


Hedgehogs' Dilemma

by oneironym



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, DRG WoL, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to whatever the heck happens in chapter 8, Fluff, Grand Theft Eikon Slayer, Implied Past Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Implied Rough Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Questionable Decisions and Fallout Thereof, Rough Kissing, Unhealthy Relationships, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Angst, Whatever Zenos thinks "friends" means, fluff?, sex-positive asexual character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:39:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneironym/pseuds/oneironym
Summary: In the year following the Calamity, an Ishgardian shepherd fled to Gridania, eventually taking up the lance again to try to make his way as an adventurer. Now, he fights for the Eorzean Alliance, against beast gods and the Empire. What common ground could there be between himself and the Crown Prince of Garlemald?Zenos asks the question first, seeking a friend and confidant. Riol finds himself unable to refuse.A story about armor and intimacy.Spoilers to the end of 4.0. Later chapters will refer to story from 4.x, but I’ll add those to the chapters in question when they come up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I did much writing for pleasure, and I had some AU I needed to get out of my system. More tags will be added for later chapters, and I'll try to include relevant warnings on individual chapters where necessary. Also I definitely named my WoL Riol before I knew there was an NPC of the same name - no relation, haha.

"No need to tie him up," Zenos snapped, gesturing to dismiss the airship guards who had rushed a bit too quickly to tend to his companion. "The eikon-slayer is here of his own free will. You may even consider him my honored guest." Blood trickled from the corner of the blond man's mouth still, and his armor was dented and scuffed, but he seemed in better spirits than his underlings had perhaps ever seen him.

The white-haired Duskwight elezen who had followed him aboard was similarly battered and bloodied, trying to hide a slight limp as he followed the Viceroy. The Imperial soldiers gave Riol Kergadarvan a tense berth, as though he did not already stand out uncomfortably among them, his silver and blue Ishgardian armor contrasting sharply with their black and red. He shot them icy glances whenever someone ventured too close, but he kept his lance held upright and made no moves to attack. Or to escape. He _had_ agreed to this, after all. 

"In fact!" The Garlean raised his voice as he reached the far side of the room, turning around to face the Warrior of Light and spreading his arms. "See to it that this man is well taken care of." Crimson stained his teeth as he bared them in a grin. "Tend to his wounds, mend his arms and armor, give him a warm meal, and find him comfortable guest quarters." Everyone stood frozen for a moment before a further gesture of their commander’s hand sent the soldiers hurrying again to comply. "He is here to lend his blade to the Empire, to stand with us against the eikon threat, and so he must be in peak physical condition at all times."

The Warrior of Light could feel Zenos' eyes on him, on his _peak physical condition_ , and it made his shoulders tense even more. Not ten minutes before, the two of them had been fighting to the death, for the third time, while the rest of the Eorzean Alliance assaulted the Palace of Ala Mhigo around them. Then, in the shadow of the bound Primal Shinryuu, the Garlean Crown Prince had extended an offer of friendship, of all things. And Riol had taken it. Anything to try to put an end to the Empire's reign of terror over Ala Mhigo, he had told himself. The two of them had fought to a standstill within the palace, and that was the closest Riol had yet come to defeating the Garlean.

Perhaps his skill would have been enough to slay the Imperial Viceroy this time, or perhaps not. Or perhaps it was simply that the Warrior of Light’s normally-boundless confidence had finally faltered at a most crucial moment. In the heat of things, accepting the Garlean Prince’s sudden invitation of friendship had somehow seemed a more certain solution than martial victory - who could be certain that this combat encounter would end any differently than his previous battles with Zenos had? Assuming, of course, that this was not simply another, longer road to his own demise. Yet Riol knew his own death in the Royal Menagerie would have bought his allies nothing, yet this alternative still gave them time and reprieve, and removed the Empire's most fearsome soldier from the heat of this battle. Upon this altar, Riol had made himself a willing sacrifice.

The airship's slight but sudden dip in an eddy of turbulence jolted Riol back to the present, and reminded him that his choice was made - his ship had, quite literally, already set sail.

Zenos turned back and departed through the doorway, leaving the Ishgardian behind with the remaining guards. One of them stepped forward then, hesitating at Riol's elbow before beckoning for him to follow. He could hear the Viceroy's footsteps echoing down the metal hallway in the opposite direction as the guard directed him around several turns before stopping at another closed door. It looked the same as the one they had just passed through prior - they all did, the halls and walkways, all austere steel Garlean design.

The guard swiped a card at a terminal beside the portal, causing it to open, then carefully offered the card to Riol. "I … hope you will find these quarters to your liking?" The man’s helm hid his expression, but it was clear by the tone of his voice that he was still struggling to believe this turn of events, as well. And more than a little afraid that the Warrior of Light might still turn on him.

"Thank you," Riol replied, his own voice sounding alien to him as he avoided looking at the guard before stepping through the doorway.

The room within was spartan but adequately comfortable, functional yet plain; replace the steel with stone, and it might well have been somewhere in Coerthas. The door shut behind the Warrior of Light of its own accord, leaving him alone in the room, where he stood motionless for a long moment, simply trying to wrap his head around what he had done.

The Warrior of Light had pursued Zenos out to the expansive patio covered in flowers alone after their fight in the Palace; the others had spread out to finish securing the interior. Undoubtedly they would have had enough time by now to begin to search for him. They might not think him dead immediately, being able to find neither his body nor that of the Imperial Viceroy. Someone must have spotted the departing airship, even amidst the chaos of battle; surely the Scions would send a rescue mission when they had the time and resources.

… Whatever good that might do, especially if he completed this trip by airship to wherever Zenos wished to take him. Likely back to Garlemald. But if he could sate this madman's need for violence in the meanwhile, the Warrior of Light might have all the chances he required to slay him finally. Riol was no shinobi, but he might be able to glean some information while among the Imperials. Perhaps even having a "friend" could temper Zenos’ bloodlust. Or he could somehow tear down Garlemald single-handedly. It all sounded equally far fetched at the moment.

The ache of battle set in at last, reminding the elezen man that he did, indeed, still possess physical form, and he sank into a chair in the corner of the room with a quiet clanking of his Ishgardian armor. The dragoon shed the plate and chain, leaving the pieces on the floor where they fell, then pulled off his padded shirt, as well, to inventory the latest crop of bruises he had picked up battling through the palace of Ala Mhigo. His armor had held true, so he bore no serious injuries, but the Viceroy had scored no small number of heavy hits on him during their battle. He would have to move carefully for a few days, he suspected, unless the Imperial medica would truly follow through on Zenos’ orders to heal him; that was not something upon which Riol wanted to rely at the moment.

The room had a small washroom set on one side behind screens, and Riol padded over barefoot to the sink. He only caught the briefest glance of his freckled and scarred face in the mirror before pointedly looking away, down at the faucet as it poured cool water into his cupped palms. Splashing the water into his face did not cause him to awaken from whatever dream this was, and so once he had cleaned himself off a bit, the Warrior of Light collapsed into the bed he had been provided. He needed rest before anything else. Then he could plan, and try to figure out what he was going to do next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who takes better care of their armor? Who takes better care of their weapons?

The Imperial medica who took charge of treatment for the Warrior of Light was a sternly beautiful Roegadyn woman - Hellsguard, almost certainly - with close-cut red hair. After coming to Riol’s room and asking him to come with her, she had not spoken a word to him; he felt rather like a piece of furniture being mended as he sat on the exam table in her small office aboard the airship, for all the attention she paid him beyond the task of healing itself.

Riol wondered if he had met any of her family elsewhere in Ala Mhigo. Or if she had any left alive.

Heavy footsteps from the hallway outside made her tense suddenly, and she snapped to attention as Zenos invited himself into the room. He took up a good deal of space, garbed as he was in his own plate, but he spared Riol a curious glance, as though examining a specimen, before the door closed behind him and he leaned back against it. In his hands, he held one of the dragoon’s gauntlets, taken from his guest quarters since Riol had left them.

He waved off the medica’s salute with a gesture, but spared her the faintest smile of approval, which seemed to make her relax, just a little, before she returned tending to the Elezen’s remaining bruises.

“A pleasure and a pity both, I suppose, that I did not take you apart well enough that you could not be put back together,” the Garlean mused after a moment.

“She’s done a good job,” Riol said, glancing at the Roegadyn, who continued her work as though she had not heard him speak. “You certainly made moving uncomfortable.” He tried to sound casual about it, but, sitting bare-chested in a doctor’s office while the man who had been an enemy for months remained fully armored and a mere arm’s length away was more than a bit unnerving. The Warrior of Light crossed his arms, but it did little to make him feel less vulnerable.

The blond prince turned his attention to the piece of articulated steel armor, padded with heaven-blue cloth. After a moment he asked Riol, “Is it true that the dragoons of Ishgard temper their armor in the blood of dragons?” He tested the joints a bit, then traced a finger over a place where he had dented the plate with his blade when the two of them had fought. The Roegadyn wove her magic into the matching bruise across the lancer’s forearm.

Zenos fixed his gaze on the Warrior of Light, a smile still lingering on his lips; the medica may as well have not been there for all the mind her Legatus paid her. "I've read about you, Riol. You grew up fighting dragons, did you not? Your tribe scrapes out its right to exist with steel, pries it from the jaws of wyrms. Tell me, when did you kill your first dragon?"

"I grew up herding karakul," the other man replied, frowning. His brow then furrowed, as much in discomfort at the man's presence and his questions as in struggle to recall the answers. "I think I was sixteen when I first helped to bring one down, but there were a dozen of us who fought it together."

There was a quiet clatter of metal as the Prince allowed the gauntlet to fall from his hands. "Was your skill praised then? Or was it brushed away, the credit given instead to your heathen goddess, or to mere fortune?"

The lancer hesitated a moment, then answered truthfully, "I ... I don't remember." Then, irritation taking over, he asked, "Why are you asking me this?" His grimace deepened as the the Roegadyn woman’s white magic found another tender spot in his shoulder.

"We are friends now, are we not?" Zenos reminded him. "I should like to learn more about you. What has forged a kindred soul to mine.

"'Praise the Fury', 'walk in the light of the Crystal'," he mocked, then asked in earnest, "How many times have your countrymen dismissed your hard-earned skill as the intercession of some imaginary force on your behalf? Does that not _infuriate_ you? Even your gift, your Echo, a weapon placed in your hands, but one you, fumblingly but singularly, are learning to wield." The Garlean took a step closer to Riol where he sat on the metal table, and the medica moved away to give her Prince space with a nervous glance between the two men. "You _bleed_ for them, you _suffer_ for them," the Viceroy continued, pointing to the dark bruises on the Warrior's bare slate skin. "And when is your sacrifice recognized?"

"They acknowledge me for what I do," Riol insisted, knuckles paling where he grasped the edge of the metal table. The Scions had afforded him their friendship, not to mention retainers, a home base at his constant disposal, and far more coin than he would have ever seen in his life as a shepherd.... 

"But is it enough for you?" Zenos stepped closer, bright blue eyes holding the dragoon's pale steel gaze. "All your hard work, scraping your way up from the dirt to the exalted slayer of dragons and false gods that you have become?"

The Warrior of Light's muscles tensed until he trembled subtly, but out of frustration rather than fear. His jaw worked as he thought, _truly_ thought on the Garlean's question, before he finally responded, "Not ... not always."

"Hmmm," the Imperial intoned, leaning yet nearer to Riol for a moment before moving back again and turning away. "Know that I will treat you far better, the Empire will treat you far better.” He paused a moment, then added almost as an afterthought, “I can send a man with better clothing for you when you are done here. And when we land, I shall commission armor better fit for a man of your station."

Riol frowned and lowered his gaze, but nodded. The ease with which Zenos moved in his own plate ... the lancer found he envied it. Imperial plate was built of material far lighter than steel, and sturdy besides. Whatever damage Riol had inflicted in the Palace was scarcely visible now. Of the two of them, the Warrior of Light felt like only he looked as though he had been in a vicious duel the day before.

"Thank you," Riol replied at last, and sighed. Perhaps he would not necessarily have to stop being an enemy of Garlemald, he tried to reason. Perhaps he could take advantage of the Prince’s... friendship for the moment while he bided his time.

"You will find I can be a generous friend," Zenos purred, moving towards the door. He opened it, and pointedly kicked the lancer’s gauntlet into the hallway, out of sight. "So long as you remain a good friend to me in return, you will not regret your choice to be here, Riol _oen_ Kergadarvan. Garlemald will see your efforts properly rewarded."

The Roegadyn woman appeared relieved as the door shut behind the blond Prince, and she returned to the Warrior of Light’s side to resume her healing. Riol, meanwhile, realized that the Garlean title Zenos had driven into his name like a flag of conquest must also have meant that he had decided to make him a citizen. Just like that.

The Imperial medica leaned close, reaching past Riol for another roll of bandages on the counter behind him. As she did so, she finally spoke again, hissing one word in his ear:

“ _Traitor._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple chapters will be slower in coming because I'm moving this week. Also I might be having too much fun drafting chapter 9 before I finish editing chapter 3 >>;


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You would think it would be difficult to hide something so violent.
> 
> Zenos and Riol dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am pleased with how this turned out. Includes some of my ideas for how the dragoon do.
> 
> Heads-up for blood and people getting stabbed.

Rather than returning directly to the palace of Garlemald, Zenos' airship had taken Riol along with his retinue to one of the outlying castra. It had been a few days since they had disembarked there, and the Warrior of Light had been left largely to his own devices, but the scrutiny of the other legionaries had made him reluctant to spend much time out and about. He had a new room now, located close to the rooms Zenos occupied; the Crown Prince had taken time to visit him often, but also spent equal hours filling his role as Legatus, meeting with his military officers.

The training grounds provided a refreshing view of the sky, which came as a relief after both the airship’s and the castrum’s dearth of windows. The air was generally filled with dust from the training exercises of the legionaries, and soot and smoke from the magitek heavy weapons, but it was still better than nothing. Riol made a leisurely circuit of the castrum grounds, still avoiding the cohorts in their training, but it seemed most of them were at least content to ignore him in return now.

It had occurred to Riol shortly after landing that he had no idea where the bound Primal Shinryuu had ended up. Upon departing from Ala Mhigo, he had assumed somehow that whatever airship the Empire provided the Crown Prince for his personal use must also be large enough to transport his favorite pet, but he had never been afforded any views of cargo areas, or of the exterior of the ship. Over the last two days, the Duskwight had investigated the interior of the castrum - finding he had been given a surprising amount of freedom to do so, even if the access still came with a wary, lingering escort - but he had been unable to find any sign of the massive dragon, or whatever Imperial technology had been developed to contain it. Riol had even found the magitek flying machines in their hangers, and he had his doubts now that even Zenos’ craft would have been able to fly while carrying the Primal.

Yesterday, he had ventured out to the drill grounds to get his bearings outside, and this morning, he aimed to conduct a more thorough search outdoors. If they were housing Shinryuu somewhere out here, it seemed the creature would not be difficult to find. Riol could still recall when he first stepped out into the Royal Menagerie in Ala Mhigo, how the flow of power that was apparently required to contain the Eikon-- the Primal was great enough to make the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. There had been thick cables running out from within the palace proper to fuel the containment field. 

Thus far, Riol had neither seen or felt any signs that it was here in the castrum, and he was growing concerned about what Zenos could have possibly done with Shinryuu. The Primal and the Prince himself remained his foremost concerns as well as his primary objectives to aid the Eorzean Alliance. And regardless of what anyone else thought, the Warrior of Light’s loyalties still lay with his homeland.

The sound of Zenos’ armored footsteps demanded his attention then, and he turned to see the Prince approaching, a bared blade in one hand.

“Hunting something?” the Garlean inquired, his voice carrying a metallic edge from behind the skull-like mask of his helmet. 

Riol’s armor had been repaired and restored to prime shape, now only marred by the dust that had settled on it during his tours of the drill grounds; he carried his own antlered helm under one arm, and his lance across his back. The blue and steel still made him stand out uncomfortably among the other Imperials. “I’m looking for Shinryuu, actually,” he replied.

Zenos laughed. “You will not find the Eikon here. I left it at the Menagerie. Consider it a symbol of my intent to return.” He also continued to advance on the Warrior of Light. “There it will remain, until you or I slay it. Or until its bonds fail and it resumes its rampage.”

The Elezen could almost see Cid in his mind’s eye, likely with Nero at his side, attempting to figure out just what made the containment field work. And how to keep it working. Finding the thing behind the Palace undoubtedly would have rendered the Alliance’s victory there a bit hollow, especially if now their eikon-slayer was missing as well. So long as Shinryuu lived, Ala Mhigo remained in danger.

“But never mind the dragon,” the Prince went on. “I was hoping you would humour me with a dance.  It has been  _ days _ , hasn’t it?” With a lunge, he struck out with his blade and knocked the helm expertly from Riol’s hands, sending it clattering into the dust.

The dragoon jumped back and immediately retrieved his lance, brandishing it at his host. He cursed inwardly, reminding himself that he could not let his guard down while he was here - if Shinryuu was elsewhere, then he would simply have to deal with Zenos first before escaping to Ala Mhigo. 

Not to mention, Riol did not want to disappoint the Garlean prince. If Zenos would give him all the battles he required to overcome him, then the Warrior of Light was more than willing to take him up on the offer. And, truth be told, he was restless. All the time on the airship to mull over his thoughts… the Elezen needed to take it out on someone.

He moved suddenly to close the distance between them in a single leap, driving the point of his spear downwards as he fell. At the same time, he let the ancient rage of dragons fill his heart, tempering his frustration to a fine edge. 

Zenos knocked the dragoon’s lance to the side with a heavy swing, just barely managing to direct his leaping strike off of its mark. His other armored fist swung around to try to catch him in the face, but Riol managed to evade the worst of it, receiving only a heavy punch to the shoulder instead. 

“‘Never mind the dragon’?” the dragoon repeated through his teeth as he recovered. “You just  _ left  _ the thing in the middle of all those people?”

“As did you,” the Garlean reminded him, and levelled another strong cut at the lancer that made his hands sting when he blocked it. “Were you not responsible for the Eikon’s summoning in the first place? Why the sudden care for what it does?”

He feinted and Riol took the bait; Zenos seized the opportunity to slip inside the range of his lance, and punched him solidly in the chest. The Elezen was far more surprised than injured, and fell back off-balance onto the ground.

The blond man pulled off his own helm while Riol was down, and tossed it aside with a look of disgust on his face. “Now it might kill Ala Mhigans, is that it? Just like I did when I reigned over that pathetic expanse of blasted dirt?” he sneered, lip curling. “Need I also remind you how many of them you yourself killed? How many Domans? How many Eorzeans? How many who were unfortunate enough to stand against you rather than beside you? Who were placed as your enemies by mere circumstance or ill fortune?”

Riol got to his feet, pulse quickening with anger, and twirled his weapon to brandish it at the Prince of Garlemald again. The blood of Nidhogg’s brood simmered with vengeance, for crimes against kith and kin. He, like all of Ishgard’s dragoons, harnessed that urge to draw their own personal power out of the dragons’ blinding rage to destroy all in retribution. It was never easy, to resist that tide of fury that wanted to repay every wrong, eye for eye, against those he held dear, just as Nidhogg had waged his lengthy war, particularly when Riol so often fought for much the same reasons. Yet that exquisitely disciplined part of the Warrior of Light knew that the Prince of Garlemald was  _ right _ .

For all that he believed his cause was righteous, to protect others, to protect Eorzea, the end result was the same - Riol killed for a living. People, beasts, dragons, eikons…. He was as much a murderer as Zenos.

With a shout of anger, he lunged into combat again, aiming quick strikes at joints to try to knock the Garlean off balance first, and saving a heavy blow for later. Zenos interrupted his assault with another strike, however, forcing him to block and dodge first.

“None of this supposed morality will matter when we are both dead and rotting in the ground,” the Prince continued. “What matters is we enjoy ourselves now!” Riol caught him in the chin then with a gauntleted fist, briefly stopping him as he staggered back a few steps. The Garlean spat a bit of blood onto the dusty ground, and grinned with genuine interest.

“None of your friends are comfortable admitting the truth, are they?  _ That _ is why you came with me. Because I know you are a killer, Riol! You  _ worked _ , you  _ aspired  _ to be one! And I acknowledge that you are  _ good at what you do _ .” Laughing with exhilaration, Zenos struck out again, one of the slices that could cut at ten paces without metal ever actually touching flesh, and the Warrior of Light felt it between the plates of his armor in his forearm and at his shoulder. 

A pleased sound from the Prince at the sight of blood through the Duskwight’s mail turned quickly into a grunt as Riol moved in and spun around to sweep his legs out from beneath him. For such a large and well-armored man, though, Zenos was surprisingly light on his feet, and he managed to roll away before his opponent could get another strike. 

With a bit of space between them now, the two foes paused for a half-second to breathe, each watching the other like a hawk. Then Zenos engaged, feinting a strike with his blade and rejoining with a kick to Riol’s middle to send him sprawling.

“That power you wield, it comes from the anger of dragons, yes?” the Prince crowed, pressing his assault to try to land another hit on the dragoon before he could recover. “Burning vengeance that has seethed and fermented for a thousand years-- It must taste like the finest wine!”

Riol knocked the thrust to one side and quickly gathered his footing, then leapt at his opponent with a roar, foregoing the spear for a moment to instead crash into Zenos with his shoulder and the full weight of his body. 

“Do you ever stop talking?” he growled, and hopped back just far enough to follow up with his lance. The blade of the dragon-winged weapon hit the plate at Zenos’ hip and scraped off with a beautiful, ugly, metallic rasping.

As he and the Crown Prince danced in the castrum courtyard, their weapons ringing against each other, none of the bigger picture mattered. In this … this time between seconds, the only heartbeat that mattered was Riol’s own. Even the blood of Nidhogg’s horde, the constant gnawing of dragons at his mind, was set on revenge for the fallen, all those Riol had lost, but for now, he could ignore it, drinking in only the fury to fuel his assault on the blond Garlean - the one man on this terrible, wonderful planet who understood  _ why _ .

The pair of them fought for what felt like an eternity, undoing the hours of work the armorer, surgeon, and medica had spent putting the Warrior of Light back together after his first arrival on the airship. This elation, this euphoria, was what truly made him whole, and if he happened to slay Zenos, his friend, his kindred spirit, it might be a happy side effect for the safety of the world, but also a personal tragedy to the dragoon. Yet anything less than his most dire effort to kill would spoil the spirit of their dance.

Riol saw his opening then, suddenly, and lunged, evading Zenos’ parry skillfully with the tip of his weapon before sinking the point into his opponent’s midsection, just between the armor plates. Zenos gasped, then coughed out a giddy laugh, droplets of blood spraying from his lips. His arms hung at his sides as he basked in the exquisite agony, and staggered back obligingly as Riol drove the weapon deeper into him.

“Good, good, you  _ beast _ ,” the Crown Prince breathed, grasping the shaft of the weapon with his off hand to try to tug it free. 

Before he could, the Warrior of Light spun around, bringing one knee up to brace it against the lance as he did, in order to throw Zenos to the ground. Blood from a cut across his own forehead ran down Riol’s face between his eyes, and he was undeniably battered, as well, but he laughed with Zenos as he leaned over him, still holding his weapon in both hands. None of the pain mattered. The thick haze of dust they had stirred up may as well have not been there. There were no nations to defend or to conquer. There were only the two of them now.

Riol tugged the blade of his lance free from the Garlean and prowled around him, panting heavily from the exertion and thrill of battle. With great care, he used the point of the weapon to brush some of Zenos’ golden hair away from his neck to press the tip of the weapon to the fair flesh at his throat. “You’re right, I do enjoy this. Fending wyrms away from flocks of sheep would never have been enough for me.”

“Perfect…” the Prince breathed, closing his eyes. Then, catching Riol off-guard, he swatted the lance aside with one forearm and, at the same time, kicked one of the dragoon’s feet out from under him. The Warrior of Light lost his balance and dropped to one knee, his weapon clattering to the dirt beside him.

Abruptly, Riol he felt a searing heat in his chest and shoulder, and looked down to see that the blond man had stabbed him through with his blade, cutting through mail and flesh alike between cuirass and pauldron. He drew a shuddering breath and chuckled, and reached out to grasp the blade. Zenos laughed raggedly as well, as he released his own hold on the katana, and allowed his arm to fall limply at his side. 

“Oh, if only we could do this again,” the Garlean murmured, then coughed again. Numbly, the Warrior of Light nodded, similarly grinning like a fool, as he managed to yank the katana free of his body. He cast the weapon aside, then collapsed heavily on top of his opponent. 

Half of the Elezen’s body felt like white-hot fire from the injury, and he could not draw enough air to keep darkness from creeping into the edges of his vision, but he did not care. His strength was spent, however, and the last thing he recalled before blacking out was the oddly comfortable weight of Zenos’ arm across his back, gripping him in an awkward embrace as their blood ran together in the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the finale of season 5 of Star Trek: Deep Space 9 when Sisko makes the ultimate power move and leaves his baseball on the desk? Zenos did that except with a whole entire dragon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot turns to incoherent noise in an echo chamber, but not all meaning is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit longer just because I moved to a new apartment last weekend. 
> 
> I imagine Resonance vs. Echo being like sticking a giant bell over both of their heads and ringing it constantly.
> 
> Heads-up for intrusive misuse of Resonance?

_ The Warrior of Light’s memories of Haurchefant were warm and fond: how the knight had so openly admired him, and was always eager to hear the tales of his latest adventures; his earnest smile, his near-complete inability to hide his enthusiasm; his willingness to petition his father to offer the Scions shelter in Ishgard, not to mention the number of times he had stepped in to lend Riol his blade; his unwavering desire to do what was right, public opinion be damned.  _

_ Inevitably, however, there were memories of his death, as well, and the deep, lingering emptiness that followed. _

“How long did you have to mourn?” Zenos asked from across the table. His eyes were black, unnaturally so, with rings of red rather than proper pupils, though they looked distinctly unfocused at the moment.

“Hours? Perhaps a day?” Riol shifted where he sat, turning his face away, even though his eyes only saw his own memories, fading in and out of clarity just like those that his Echo showed from other people. And worse, as this time they were layered atop one another, identical after-images that started to make him dizzy. A painful ache had started ringing like a bell inside his head as soon as the Garlean started to intrude in his mind, and it was only growing worse.

“... Hmm.” 

_ Now the same memories seemed drawn by a different hand: Haurchefant was merely a knight who was wise enough to recognize his better, and to curry the Warrior’s favor; knowing that he might well be forgotten in death, lost in the shadows of giants in the Dragonsong War, he was determined to make a martyr of himself instead. And how throwing his life away still lingered as a stain of sentiment on the dragoon’s soul! The Fortemps bastard was a cloud of despair on Riol’s heart even now, that at once held him back and threw him forward in search of martyrdom of his own…. _

“What are you doing?!” the Elezen demanded, putting hands to his head. “Don’t- don’t touch those!” The visions then ceased abruptly like a wave going out, before a renewed headache crashed in with fury to take their place. It took him a moment to remember where he was - in guest quarters in the castrum, at a table by a window with Zenos, seated in the wheelchair to which the Garlean had confined him in their last duel. 

The Imperial Crown Prince recoiled back in his own chair in the same instant, and growled at the strain the motion put on his own healing wounds. “If you knew what you were doing, you would have no trouble keeping me out,” he growled between teeth clenched in a pained grin. Shinryuu had been difficult to overwhelm with his will, but reaching into the Warrior of Light’s mind felt like running full-tilt into a wall.

Sweat beaded on Riol’s brow and he took a shuddering breath, then forced his eyes to focus on the other man briefly. It had been quite some time since the Echo had affected him this badly. “I actually would rather you returned to just  _ asking _ your rude, probing questions, to be honest,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his hand down his face.

“You stopped answering, remember?” Zenos growled in return. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and shook his head, trying to shrug off the after-effects of his own Resonance. His chair made an awkward scraping sound on the floor as he pushed it away from the table, so he could rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Besides,” he added as an afterthought, “It may be more fun to tear the answers from your mind.” That much was a lie, though, if subsequent attempts were going to be this uncomfortable. At the very least, the Garlean’s headache served to counteract the pain of the stitches in his midsection for the moment.

Riol fell silent, crossing his arms carefully over his bandaged chest. Why had the Garlean touched those particular memories of his? Had he dug those up on purpose, or were the visions still random like his own, even if Zenos could call upon his Resonance whenever he wished? Thinking of Haurchefant again… it made the Warrior’s heart ache even more deeply than the healing wound from Zenos’ blade did. Those recollections were all so … personal, too. The dragoon reached down to turn his chair slightly away from the table, and crossed his arms more tightly, as though it would somehow protect him from those poignant thoughts.

And, he wondered with a sudden embarrassment and anxiety, how much had the Prince seen that might not have reflected back into Riol’s own mind? Had Zenos seen anything more intimate? The Warrior of Light had never really admitted to anyone else just how he had felt about Haurchefant, except to the man himself. Feeling his cheeks warm with a blush, he fixed his steel-blue gaze pointedly out the window.

His ‘friend’ had been pointedly correct about his own unwillingness to let those memories - any of them - go, but the dragoon never once considered that sentimentality a weakness. It was all he had left of a dear friend. That pain helped to fuel him to destroy the Heaven’s Ward when the time came.

The silence stretched between them for a while, before Riol finally said, “You’ve hardly told me anything about yourself.” He ventured a glance at Zenos, who sat forward with his elbows resting on his knees to peer out the window, and who frowned at the Elezen’s words. “What did you do when you were growing up?” Riol asked. 

The Garlean sat back and sighed, then replied with obvious reluctance, “I received an education befitting the Crown Prince of Garlemald, and began leading military units as soon as I was old enough.” The scowl on his face seemed as much at the question as at the discomfort of moving with the array of half-healed stitches in his midsection.

“But how old were you when you learned to read?”

Zenos made another quiet sound of frustration. “Three? Perhaps four? Why do you care about that?” He had supposedly been all but engineered for perfection - apparently in mind as well as in body.

“Truly?” Riol exclaimed. “I think I was nearly eleven before I was lettered.”

“That’s because you were a filthy Coerthan dirt farmer,” the Prince sneered.

“Dirt  _ shepherd _ ,” Riol corrected.

Zenos laughed, once, but his expression quickly returned to one of vaguely irritated boredom. “Peasant of some stripe or another.”

“What do you like to read?”

“I don’t.”

“... Fair enough.”

There was another silence. Something mechanical within the castrum started running, adding to the quiet but persistent background rumbles and whirs. Out the window, a file of magitek armors slowly marched past.

This time Zenos was the first one to speak. “Tell me about Nidhogg, instead then,” he asked at last. With a grunt, he leaned against the back of the chair, pressing one hand to the bandages around his middle, and let his head loll to one side as he glanced at Riol still across the table. “There, that is not about you, so it should be no trouble to answer.”

“Oh, because you’ve not read our heathen legends about the Dread Wyrm, of course,” Riol teased. With a bit of effort, he turned his chair back towards the Garlean, then studied the subtle patterns in the metal tabletop as he considered his answer.

“I suppose you want me to say Nidhogg was the same as Shinryuu.” He attempted to mimic Zenos’ tone from the Menagerie: “A beast of pure violence?” The Crown Prince made a face, but Riol continued, “I never … I never got to know Shinryuu as well, but Nidhogg was all vengeance. Overwhelming retribution.”

The Elezen traced a fingernail over the table. “So violent, yes, but somewhere long ago, he only wanted to avenge his murdered broodmate.”

“That is what you dragoons do, then?” Zenos mused. “Nidhogg’s reprisal, then Ishgard’s counter for their lost, then Nidhogg’s brood again, an eye for an eye for an eye, for a thousand years?” He was quiet for a long moment, watching Riol’s fingertips on the table. Then he laughed softly. “After all that time, surely you have all forgotten why. Perhaps you and I are more alike than I originally thought. Your war is over now, taking away whatever meaning it had left, but you still cannot stop fighting because you enjoy it too much.”

Again, the Ishgardian considered his response carefully. Finally, he replied, “I do enjoy it. I would be lying if I said I didn’t. But I do still have kin to protect, as well.” He glanced pointedly across the table at the blond man who had been intruding into those memories. “You’ve seen that much.”

Zenos shifted where he sat, mulling over this information. Steepling his fingers, he rested them against his chin in contemplation, then said, “True, you have never wanted for company, it seems. Only when you lose them.” His lips pressed into a thin line and then turned to another slightly pained frown.

“Are you suggesting you’re lonely?” Riol asked with feigned surprise. He had meant the tone as sarcasm at first, but realized it might actually serve to preserve the man’s ego a bit. The Prince had been unwilling to allow his men to see him in a state of weakness and wrapped in bandages while he healed, yet he had made a point of leaving his quarters daily only to visit Riol. As if his eagerness to bring the Warrior away from Ala Mhigo with him had not been a first hint. 

“I will skewer you to that chair with my blade,” the Prince menaced, which seemed to confirm Riol’s assessment.

“I won’t fight back,” the Elezen threatened in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Zenos might get a kick out of Ravana.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, this is all just a story about armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads-up for blood and people getting murdered.

Riol tried not to fiddle with the fastenings of his newly crafted armor as he walked out onto the castrum’s drill grounds. It was tempting, as he was unaccustomed to the plate’s fit and weight, and the gauntlets allowed him a surprising amount of manual dexterity to facilitate the fiddling. The Garlean platemail fit like a second skin; he felt almost uncoordinated in it, like the sensation of heaviness in the limbs after climbing out of the water, except in reverse.

His Ishgardian plate was designed to provide protection from dragons as well as from the often-frigid weather that the Calamity had brought to Coerthas, and so had a bit of bulk to it. It made little difference to Riol, as the smiths of his homeland had perfected their designs over a thousand years, and the dragoon himself was trained to wear it. But the new armor felt …  better, he decided. Perhaps less suited for cold weather, but it was more than adequate for the current clime. He would keep his old plate, certainly, for the memories scratched into the steel and torn into the cloth, but it seemed logical to also keep the superior set, particularly if he would be doing battle with Zenos again.

And that was what he imagined the Prince’s invitation had been about, as the summons to join him outside had arrived in the same parcel as the new armor itself. Riol made his way out to the field of dead grass and gravel, where he and Zenos had already fought once before. A stronger breeze today stirred the dust in small swirls and clouds, but the Garlean helm’s breath mask did a fine job filtering out the haze. The rest of the helmet fit far more closely to the Elezen’s face than he was accustomed to, though, and he shifted it again slightly as he caught sight of Zenos and a small contingent of legionaries a few dozen yalms ahead. The helmet was quite comfortable, but the lancer only hoped the padding was good enough to keep him from injury. Not needing to worry about getting dirt in his eyes was certainly a luxury, but recalling how hard his opponent could hit….

"Magnificent!" the Garlean Crown Prince exclaimed as the dragoon drew closer. He was fully armored as well; the eagerness in his voice contrasted sharply with the twisted skull-like visage of his helm. “Now you look like you belong here.” Zenos’ sword was drawn, but instead of moving to attack Riol directly, he gestured to the Imperial soldiers at his side.

“A year’s pay if you can bloody the Warrior of Light,” he offered to them with a small laugh, and waited to allow the other soldiers to rush past him on the assault.

A half-dozen black-armored Imperials moved in to attack Riol as he quickly readied his lance, while two more charged spells and a third braced to heal. The Elezen had learned the subtle differences in the armor of the Imperial rank and file, making them all a bit less faceless to him - these all seemed to be troops who held titled positions, albeit lowly ones. None of them looked to be native Garlean. The Warrior of Light had expected, or perhaps even hoped, that Zenos would be his only opponent, and he found himself decidedly disappointed at having to clash first with regular soldiers. Not to mention, their Legatus had been the one to remind Riol in their last engagement that these were likely conscripts from the very areas he had once sought to liberate.

Still, they had to be dealt with in some capacity. Riol was much lighter on his feet than even the Imperial equites, and he managed to dodge or divert most of the legionaries’ initial attack; one managed to land a blow on his new armor, and he shoved the man away roughly with one hand. “Save your legion some coin and fight me yourself,” the dragoon challenged, keeping his attention on Zenos as long as he could manage before the other Imperials renewed their assault.

“You’re scarcely out of bed,” the Crown Prince taunted. “If you are so desperate to be bedridden for another week, then you can  _ earn _ the honor of my blade first.” To make his point, he sheathed his katana and turned his back on the Eikon Slayer.

Riol knocked a man back with the butt of his lance just in time to feel another blade land a blow on his shoulder. The pauldron took the blow well: he definitely felt it, but not painfully. Or perhaps the hoplomacha was simply weak. He spun to kick the swordswoman away, ducked to try to trip another, and promptly received a flurry of black magic to the face.

Zenos laughed, turning his head just enough to glance back over his shoulder at the Imperials swarming his friend. “Pay attention, or our dance will be short indeed,” he taunted as Riol staggered back. Fortunately, his mask seemed to be resistant enough to flames.

Then the flaring illusion of dragonscales that surrounded the Ishgardian gave enough of his melee opponents pause that he was able to jump back away from them immediately after calling on his dragon blood’s power. Then he leapt forward again to land amongst the trio of spellcasters, and immediately knocked one of the signiferi to the ground before rounding on the medicus. The other mage unleashed a flurry of ice at him, but somewhere between his rising adrenaline and the quality of his armor, Riol shrugged off the worst of it.

Unable to keep his eyes off of the battle for long, the Prince moved several paces back, out of the way, before turning back to continue observing and appraising his friend. The armorers had done a truly fine job, replicating form of the Ishgardian dragoon’s armor, but in a more civilized Garlean style. The half-cape that flared out at the Elezen’s waist as he turned to press his attack was Imperial black and red, instead of the blue he had worn before. Already, Riol knew how to brace his lance against the new plate, already looked to be moving more easily. Zenos almost regretted not taking these first blows against the steel himself.

Then he saw one of the fallen equites attempting to move, and realized that the Warrior of Light was dispatching his troops but only leaving them unconscious, or wishing they were. “Give them no quarter!” he demanded with a touch of disgust. “They will give you none! I told you to earn this fight with me!” The Garlean had been craving another display of his friend’s skill, and he wanted blood.

Riol hesitated, just enough to get knocked onto his rear by another hoplomachus who had deftly maneuvered inside the range of his spear.

“Did you know, all of these people volunteered for the opportunity to kill you?” Zenos told him. “None of them are pleased to accept the Warrior of Light to their ranks. Do you want to take up your proffered mantle of Imperial Eikon Slayer and prove yourself here, or do you want to die today, far from your home and friends?”

The swordsman stomped on the lancer’s hand that held his weapon; Riol released his grip only by reflex, but quickly rolled over and aimed a kick at the man’s midsection. He felt the sudden weight of debt and anxiety again, from when the Roegadyn medica had first called him a traitor - he should be trying to protect these people and free them from the Empire. Yet he was also not eager to let these soldiers kill him.

“They should all be ants to you, to us!” The Garlean Prince turned his attention to the fallen soldier nearest to him, one of the signiferi who was attempting to regain his footing and his resolve. As the lancer retrieved his weapon from the dirt and narrowly dodged the swing of a laquearius, he saw Zenos move to attack his own troop; the dragoon stumbled as he abruptly changed directions, and dove to interpose.

“Oh?” the blond Garlean intoned as Riol’s lance rather unexpectedly knocked his katana out of his grasp, just as he was poised to slaughter the cowering caster at his feet. Everyone fell completely still for perhaps half a second, with the Eikon Slayer poised awkwardly over the signifer to defend him, and Zenos watching in mild surprise as his blade clattered to the ground perhaps a yalm away.

Then, with fearsome speed, the Prince drew a second sword from the massive holster at his hip, and, in the same motion, stepped forward to smash the edge of the blade squarely into the dragoon’s face. The Elezen staggered back, narrowly avoiding stepping on the signifer, lowering his lance a moment to put a hand to his mask. The plate was unbroken, but he was fairly certain his nose was; he could feel and taste blood and the pain was difficult to think through.

Rather than following through on his assault on Riol while the Duskwight was still reeling, however, Zenos instead stepped down ferociously on the signifer’s arm and cut deeply into his shoulder, nearly enough to sever the limb. The man screamed and struggled, and the other legionaries stopped in their tracks.

“Each one who dies now is one less who can invade Ala Mhigo again, yes?” the Prince told Riol, ignoring the dying man under his boot. Then he turned to the remaining soldiers and gestured towards the Eikon Slayer with his blade. “Kill him, or I will kill you!”

Trying to gather his wits, the Elezen readied his weapon again. Dimly, he recalled that he had meant to remain an enemy to Garlemald, even while in its heart. The remaining legionaries, incited into a bit of a frenzy at the very real prospect of death at the hands of their own Legatus, charged the lancer in a desperate renewed assault. The agonized shouts of their maimed comrade had clearly shaken them, though, and the leading eques appeared to waver.

Riol licked blood from his lips, feeling the pain in his face dull as he prepared for the frenzy of battle again. Dropping to a crouch just as the legionaries reached him, he thrust his spear up and into the leading soldier’s chest. He scarcely felt the next blow that rang off of his thigh, and then threw a shoulder into the laquearius to knock him back. Red ran down the shaft of his spear as he shoved the soldier aside. Zenos was right, he realized. The Eikon Slayer had no reason to spare these legionaries. All of them were pieces of the Garlean war machine - probably beyond his help - and needed to be exterminated.  


Then the dragoon leapt towards the dying signifer, forcing the Prince back before he staked the caster to the ground to kill him immediately. At least he could give them the courtesy of a swift death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw basically all the Latin you know is for Dragon Age roleplay and fanfic about Garlemald.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenos is too selfish to kill for anyone but himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so bad at writing notes orz. I liked writing this chapter because I made me kind of sad?
> 
> Heads-up for someone getting strangled.

Truth be told, Zenos had been dragging his feet about returning to the capital and facing his father. He had lost Ala Mhigo and Doma both, which, of itself hardly troubled him - rulership was oppressively boring compared to conquest - but the fact that he had  _ failed  _ had gnawed relentlessly at his heart since his airship had first lifted off from Ala Mhigan soil. Whatever his father might have to say to him, the Crown Prince’s disappointment with himself was far worse. He had been trained for naught but perfection, and had met with downfall in spite of it.

Yet at the same time, he had come away from all of this with a kindred soul at his side. The Garlean tried to remind himself that he had still struck a victory for the Empire, after a fashion: the Eikon Slayer could fight now at his side, rather than against him with the Eorzean barbarians. Enticing Riol to join him had been more for Imperial tactical advantage than for selfish vanity and simple need for company.

Or so Zenos tried to tell himself.

Once the airship was underway to the capital and he had given all the orders he hoped were necessary for a smooth flight, the Prince went directly to his friend’s room to see him. Though he was not at all sure what, precisely, he actually wanted, he hoped Riol would know.

Inside, the dragoon stood with his shoulders resting back against the wall, arms crossed, and looked up as soon as Zenos opened the door. His plate armor clattered subtly as he wiggled one leg slightly, but stopped as the Prince crossed his threshold and the door shut behind him. 

“Restless?” the Garlean inquired, stepping closer. “Fearful of setting foot in the heart of the Empire?”

Riol held his arms out, looking down at the stylized draconic red-and-black plate with which he had been provided. “Why would I be? I thought I was the Imperial Eikon Slayer now, and your personal guest.” Even the legionaries seemed to have relaxed now that he was regularly garbed like someone who belonged among them, though they still rarely, if ever, attempted conversation. There was not much talk in the Garlean legion anyway, it seemed.

Another thought struck the Prince of Garlemald then - what if the Emperor saw through this ruse of friendship and thought Zenos weak for seeking companionship? Would it be a better gift to his father to deliver the corpse of this Warrior of Light? Would it take the edge off of the inevitable punishment for his failure in Ala Mhigo? The soldiers would certainly never question if Zenos were to tell of how the Elezen had suddenly turned traitor, in spite of the comfort he had been afforded.

“I suppose not,” Zenos murmured distantly, not really thinking about the words. Then he looked over, fixing his gaze on the Elezen man resting back casually against the bulkhead. Riol merely peered back, then shifted his weight to the other leg to continue his fidgeting. They had come to this strange trust between them, that the battle was far more rewarding than the other’s death. Every time they had fought on the castrum drill grounds, the only blow withheld had been a killing one. And, at times, barely even. Riol’s eyes were still blackened and his nose swollen from when he had broken it the previous week, and Zenos had his own share of lingering injuries from their most recent bouts.

But perhaps, if he could save face before his father, to lessen the scathing reminders of his inadequacy beyond bringing Riol into the fold… was it worth shattering that unspoken agreement between them? Between himself and his friend? 

“You’re restless, too,” the dragoon began to say, but Zenos moved quickly closing the distance between them in a single stride. The Garlean’s armored hand went to Riol’s throat, just barely finding enough space between his jaw and the armor to hold him back against the metal wall. 

“A bit,” he sneered, squeezing. Riol would think this one of their little games, a different sort of struggle, given the limited space they had aboard the airship. Indeed, the Elezen took a swing at him; Zenos caught his wrist with his unoccupied hand, and started to lean his weight into the man, to lift him slightly off the floor in order to make this go faster. Or fast enough. He could dispatch the Duskwight immediately with his blade - a careful thrust, in the small room - but the Prince felt a sense of obligation to give his friend a fighting chance.

Riol’s lips curled, baring his teeth as he struggled, and grabbed Zenos’ wrist with his other free hand to try to get him to drop his grasp. His steel-blue eyes shone with a look of exhilaration, that defiance that the Garlean liked about him. This was one man who would never bow and snivel to him, would never beg, even if he knew that Zenos meant to kill him now. It had made him a perfect rival once upon a time, and now a perfect friend.

And the fight never left him, either. A moment later, the dragoon’s heel struck the back of Zenos’ knee and both men fell to the corrugated metal floor with a rough clattering of plate. Riol put a hand to his throat where his friend had held him, and took a few deep breaths to recover, his lips twisted in a grin the whole time.

Zenos’ next lunge was rewarded with a strike to the plate over a healing wound in his thigh, causing him to suck air between his teeth at the sharp ache. At least he could trust Riol to make sport of this whole exercise….

The Elezen blinked, stunned, as the Prince slugged him in the jaw with his metal-shod fist. In the second his guard was down, Zenos grabbed him around the neck again, this time with both hands, and rolled over to pin the lancer beneath him. The Garlean did his best to ignore his rival’s struggles, focusing only on squeezing his airway shut and keeping it that way. Riol’s punches in return were heavy, serious, and distracting, knowing just where to strike at mending wounds or gaps in armor. He had to turn his head away from worst of the Eikon Slayer’s lashing out. And to avoid his eyes.

His struggles only became desperate as Zenos continued to strangle him without relenting. The dragoon’s eyes started to water as his attempts to draw breath amounted to little more than a weak, ragged wheezing. His gaze remained locked on the blond man above him, though, and even as his lips started to turn blue, he swung another fist into the other man’s face.

Realization seemed to strike Riol, just where this was meant to end. His eyes were beginning to lose focus, but he kept them fixed on Zenos’ bright blue eyes as he suddenly stopped struggling. His body fought by reflex to breathe still, but the dragoon allowed his body to go completely limp, his arms flopping to the floor at his sides. Starting to black out, the Elezen tipped his head back slightly further, almost daring his opponent to tighten his grasp. He narrowed his steel eyes, lips curling back subtly, as though to force the point that this was not simply the impending loss of consciousness. He knew exactly what he was doing: challenging Zenos to finish the job and kill him while he was not yet unable but rather  _ unwilling  _ to fight back. To force him to waste the life of this-- this dirty barbarian, this singular other man who understood  _ full well _ the thrill of fighting back -- and on what? A moment of fear of what his father would think?

The Crown Prince could have no such wordless conversations with anyone else. No one knew him as the Eikon Slayer did, because he had never permitted anyone so close before. Nor had anyone else dared approach him with such confidence, and had the skill to back it up. No one else on the whole blighted planet was brave or foolish enough. Perhaps no one else  _ cared _ . The Garlean might never find anyone else.

“Fuck you,” Zenos snarled, releasing Riol and sitting back on his heels. The other man gasped in desperation, sucking down breaths of air and coughing raggedly. He peered down at the dragoon a moment longer, then climbed off of him and looked away, trying to ignore the twisted feeling in his gut as his friend struggled to catch his breath.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your overconfidence is your weakness."  
> "Your faith in your friends is yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy patch day!
> 
> Also I feel all you fellow ffxiv fans should know that my roommate and I are adopting a cat and naming her Khloe ;w;

“Why did you stop?” Riol rasped, grimacing at the pain tearing at his throat. He sat at the edge of his bed, empty potion bottle still in hand, as he waited for the curative to finish mending the damage Zenos had done. Another fit of ragged coughing overcame him again, and when he raised a hand to his mouth to stifle it, small droplets of blood scattered across his gauntlet.

“You stopped fighting back,” Zenos mumbled in reply, making a point of not looking back at the Elezen man. Riol coughed again, and he waited for him to finish before shooting back, “Why are  _ you _ still so eager to die? I have no interest in whatever ‘noble sacrifice’ you think you need to make. You will never forgive yourself, sainted murderer of Eorzea, and there is nothing you have done that requires my forgiveness.”

The pained rattling of the dragoon’s breathing gradually quieted while his gaze remained lowered to stare at the corrugated metal floor. “I didn’t think you would do it,” he said finally. Riol rubbed carefully at his throat and swallowed again, then glanced up at Zenos.

The Garlean rose to his feet, pointing accusingly at Riol as his features twisted into a look of anger. “Are you shirking your duty then, Eikon Slayer? Warrior of Light?” he snapped. “You came with your Alliance rabble to kill me, pursued me back into the heart of the Empire, and yet you have not accomplished your task!” He took a step closer, and Riol flinched back slightly, half-raising his arms defensively.

“I knew you wouldn’t do it,” the lancer said, this time with more certainty. He climbed up from his place at the end of the bed and stepped away around it, to try to maintain some measure of distance between himself and Zenos in the small room, in spite of his words. He was certainly wary of the man, but not quite afraid. Not as afraid as he felt he perhaps should have been.

The blond man sneered with disgust, “And you gambled your life on what, my  _ mercy _ ?”

“You granted me mercy, then?” Riol needled.

At that, the Garlean made a frustrated sound and crossed his arms. “I am not a merciful man. You know that.”

“I gamble with my life all the time,” Riol pressed, now taking his own half-step forward. “Every time I stand against an Eikon, or your legions.”

“There should be no gamble, no uncertainty to those battles. You have the strength, you have proven that to me,” Zenos replied, frustrated. He would raise his voice in happiness, Riol had learned, but never in anger. Even now, there was an edge to his voice, but he did not yell. “And your insolent tongue shows you do not lack for confidence. Battle, war, they are only a ‘gambles’ for the weak of body and mind, not for true warriors such as us.” 

“The weak like Haurchefant?” It almost stung RIol’s mouth to speak of his dear friend in such a way, even if it was, in some sense, the truth. “One candle of life to burn, you said once. Maybe you don’t care when yours is quenched, but what if someone else does?”

“You  _ allowed _ yourself that weakness,” Zenos replied, giving him another disgusted look. “You  _ wanted _ it. Look what that’s done to you.” Closing his eyes for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

When the Prince opened his eyes again, they were black, black and red with the Resonant power he could call to mind at will. He rose to his feet suddenly and stepped close, imposing such that his armored breastplate nearly touched Riol’s, as he forced his way into the Elezen’s mind again. Immediately, the screaming pain began to fill both of their minds, and the Eikon Slayer’s sight faded to white before giving way to visions of his past.

“You let all these people too close to you,” Zenos hissed. “Weaklings that make you weak in turn. You fight for your supposed lofty principles, but in the end, you and I will rot in the same soil. How do you know that they would mourn you? Why fight for them? I have seen you fight for yourself, and fearsomely.”

Riol saw his memories, of his friends back in Eorzea, and those who had left him: the quiet moments with Minfilia when he first returned safe and alive after defeating Gaius van Baelsar and his Ultima weapon; the enthusiastic conversations over meals with Aymeric; the fights he had to referee between Estinien and Ysayle; the look of glee on Cid’s face each time he flew the Enterprise into truly foolish situations; the fresh air of the Azim Steppe as he helped Cirina and the other Mol tend their sheep….

Zenos’ palm flat on his chest pushed him back onto the bed, but he scarcely noticed between the memories tied across his eyes and the infernal  _ noise _ of the blunt force of Resonance against his Echo. 

“You are the only one who can challenge me in combat,” the Garlean went on, voice sounding strained as the discomfort of his power clashing with Riol’s was affecting him just as strongly. “Yet you flaunt these vulnerabilities! You welcome this pain! Why?” He kept tearing through Riol’s mind, roughly pulling down memories like books from a shelf. The empty feeling inside as Shiva - no, Ysayle - fell to her death after rendering her final assistance to the Warrior of Light; the numbness while fleeing Doma Castle and seeing it collapse around him, knowing that Gosetsu was still trapped within; the needles of fear when Zenos had cut down Yugiri in Yanxia, and the relief when she showed signs of life again.

Then even the memories started to fade to incandescent white noise, and Riol was only dimly aware of Zenos leaning his weight down onto him. “I think you know why,” Riol managed in a strained voice. “It’s easier than going without…. Isn’t it?” He could barely hear his own voice over the gods-damned shrieking in his mind; the Elezen half-wished the Zenos were strangling him again instead.

Something somehow got through to the blond man, at least, because a second later he finally relented, both hands to his temples as he stumbled back. Growling in pain, he fumbled to find the chair and narrowly managed to slump into it without missing the seat. Blood ran from his nose from the effort of forcing his Resonance on Riol’s Echo, but Zenos ignored it for the moment in favor of nursing the pounding headache he had inflicted upon himself.

The horrendous pain began to fade fairly quickly, followed by the lesser headache, the cold sweat and dizziness of his Echo. The disquieting feeling of having his memories torn into bothered Riol more, though, and left his hands shaking slightly. The decade of bittersweet recollections swirled past his eyes still, but he managed to return carefully to a sitting position after a few moments. 

“I thought we had learned our lesson about why doing that is a bad idea,” the dragoon grumbled, removing his gauntlets and rubbing his eyes. 

Zenos started to retort immediately, but stopped, saying nothing before his mouth snapped shut again. And tensed, pressing his lips to a thin line. The muscles in his jaw worked, moving almost imperceptibly unless one both dared to stand close enough to the Garlean, and knew what to look for; Riol knew this meant he was thinking.

“Stop trying to get yourself killed before I have a chance to soak my blade in your blood in proper battle.” the Prince said at last. He fixed his friend with a steely gaze, then quickly glanced away. There was a stretch of silence which only grew less comfortable as the whirring of the airship’s engines quieted to leave the small room feeling even emptier.

Finally, with great reluctance, Zenos murmured, “I … I do not wish to be alone again.” He sat forward on the chair, elbows resting on his knees, head lowered. A curtain of his long blond hair had spilled forward to hide his face, and Riol, surprised at the admission, could not begin to guess what expression the Prince now wore. Yet he had no chance to find out before the Garlean rose to his feet, turned on his heel, and left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the Twelve, this was a _terrible_ idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard to write. I must have rewritten a few chunks of it like 3 times.
> 
> Fury forgive me.
> 
> Heads-up for rough making out, biting, sooo much hair-pulling, and Zenos' utter inability to pay someone a proper complement. Possibly some sub!Zenos if you squint?

Riol was fairly certain the guest quarters afforded him in the Palace as a friend of the Crown Prince were nearly the size of the house he had grown up in, if not a bit larger. Having been unable to sleep on the airship ride, he had set all his armor aside in order to test the comfort of the couch along one wall. The whole place buzzed with distant mechanical hums, just as the airship had, but now, it was more the dragoon’s own mind that kept him from falling asleep. Finding himself in the heart of Garlemald… he had not felt anxious at all, yet he had also scarcely slept the night before.

Stretched out on his back on the sofa, hands folded on his stomach, the elezen tapped one foot against the armrest and studied the metal ceiling. Normal Garlean stature meant that the furniture was sized adequately for the tall lancer, which was nice - no uncomfortable folding to fit on the sofa this way, nor would he have to worry about his toes poking off the end of the bed. The garb he wore now, dark and austere in style, was comfortable but a bit chilly in the room, but he had not yet figured out how to work the climate controls.

After a time, he decided he was not likely to find a nap now, either, and sat up, stretching his arms and back before rising out of the seat. Riol had just started to pace when the door opened to admit Zenos to the room; surprisingly, the Prince had knocked lightly just before inviting himself in.

“I trust you are finding everything to your liking?” he inquired, moving to join Riol. The Eikon Slayer stopped walking, a careful eye on his friend, which caused Zenos to laugh slightly. “Do recall, I have no interest in killing you for the Emperor. When I decide your time is up for good, you will know it.”

“Thank you, that makes me feel better,” Riol replied, with more sincerity than he would have liked. And he did relax, a bit, as the Prince moved to sit on the sofa he had just vacated. 

“As usual, my father has no time for me today, but I plan to make my case tomorrow morning for keeping you alive,” the Garlean continued, slouching on the seat and resting one elbow on the armrest. “You and he should be on the same side, as I see it, against the Eikon threat to this world.” He made a dismissive gesture, adding, “And if he decides to see you dead, then he will not deny me the opportunity to be your executioner. One final dance. Yet … I hope it will not be necessary.”

He smiled, glancing to the Elezen man to see how he would react. Riol, meanwhile, moved to join him on the sofa. “No one else in your Empire would be able to kill me,” he replied, a smile forming on his own lips. 

“And I would hate to be thrust back into intolerable boredom.”

They fell silent for a moment, until Zenos hesitantly spoke again: “Also, forgive me for prying into your memories again.” The words may well have tasted sour, by the look on his face as he spoke them. “I am … not a patient man.”

“Hmm,” Riol intoned, brow furrowing. “Fewer headaches for us both if you ask instead, don’t forget.”

“As you keep saying,” the Garlean replied, considering a moment before leaning closer, scrutinizing the Duskwight’s freckle-dusted features. He had shown few qualms about invading Riol’s personal space in the past, even when they were not locked in combat; now, he reached a gauntleted hand to grasp the Eikon Slayer’s chin carefully between metal-clawed fingers.

The lancer squirmed away and reminded him, “You should ask about that, too.”

Zenos tried without success to keep his expression dispassionate; he frowned subtly, apparently able to feel the blush that crept across his carved ivory features. “Humor me, my friend?” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, and relaxed his jaw enough that his lips parted ever so slightly.

“Humor you how?” Riol inquired, though he had some idea. The lancer wanted to hear him make the request. He allowed his gaze to trail to the blond man’s mouth for a moment before Zenos flinched back. “Have you never…?” He let the rest of the question go unspoken, instead making briefest eye contact before Zenos glanced quickly away.

“Of course not,” the Prince snapped back, with perhaps a touch of embarrassment. “No one has dared try. And I saw no reason to make the effort myself.” He withdrew a bit further, nose wrinkling. “Some have tried to gain my favor through making themselves… shall we say, available, and I have allowed it on a few occasions. But I never had much interest in so-called ‘pleasures’ of the flesh, and less still in sycophants’ hollow affections.”

“But…?” Riol pressed carefully. The Garlean was a merciless man, had done terrible things, yet the dragoon had also grown to understand the depths of his loneliness. Zenos similarly acknowledged that the Warrior of Light was little more than another murderer, simply one content to be loved instead of feared. And if Riol was the only person who could satisfy the Prince’s bloodlust, then he would fight him as many times as the Imperial surgeons would put him back together, to keep him from visiting that brutality on others. And in turn, their partnership could temper the Elezen man’s own violent desires.

“But this time, I am asking.” Zenos raised his hand again, with almost a tremor of uncertainty to it, before tracing a steel tip of a clawed finger along his friend’s jaw and musing, “No one else quite moves my blood as you do.” Riol nodded slightly, his own brow creasing in thought, before he canted his head to allow the Prince to take his chin in his gauntleted hand. “And already, we have grown so close….”

Had someone suggested two weeks ago that Riol had accepted Zenos’ offer of friendship with the intent of seducing the man, he never would have believed it. To offer himself up as Eorzea’s champion in order to provide his home with a respite from Imperial invasion, certainly. And for his own wary curiosity’s sake, to see what twisted a soul that loved to fight into that of a monster. Perhaps even to act as infiltrator and assassin against the Empire. This … alternative was a potential solution that had never even crossed his mind - how could the cruel Imperial Viceroy of Doma and Ala Mhigo, whose only interest seemed to be in spilling blood, possibly have a heart to capture?

Yet Riol would have been lying if the faint idea had not whispered in his ear from time to time over the last few weeks.

“So you want, say, at least a simple demonstration?” the Eikon Slayer inquired carefully.

“Mmm,” Zenos hummed, and pulled Riol a bit closer with a surprising gentleness.

“... Easy enough.” The white-haired man closed his eyes before leaning just close enough to place a kiss on the lips of the Crown Prince of Garlemald. The thrill of it nearly made him dizzy, but he held as still as possible, leaving it up to Zenos when he wished to pull away; he lingered longer than Riol expected.

“How--” he began to ask, but was cut off as gauntleted fingers tangled in his hair, and the Garlean kissed him roughly again. He was indelicate but hungry, and, as he started to pull at the dragoon’s hair to try to undo his messy ponytail, Riol experimentally nipped at his lower lip.

Zenos withdrew just far enough to speak, tendrils of saliva trailing between his lips and his dearest friend’s. “You  _ animal _ ,” he breathed, not at all unhappily. Then he grasped a fistful of the other man’s hair, pulling him close once more. The Elezen rewarded him by drawing a bit of blood with his teeth.

The dragoon finally sat back again when the Prince released his hold on his hair, and watched the Garlean’s features with interest as he licked his lips. Zenos put fingertips to his own mouth, taking a moment to process what had happened before tracing his tongue over the small wound the Eikon Slayer had left.

“Mmm,” he reflected for a long moment, then found Riol’s gaze again. “So now you will give me everything I desire?” the Prince challenged with a half-grin.

“You will have only whatever I am willing to give,” the Duskwight replied with a defiant smile of his own. A thrill of exhilaration had started to rise in his stomach. By the Twelve, this was probably a  _ terrible _ idea, but not one he was going to discount.

The Garlean bared his teeth slightly in a sneering grin as he shoved two of his gauntleted fingers into the dragoon’s mouth. “I could use some way to pass time until tomorrow.”

Riol tried not to gag, and tried harder to ignore the taste of steel and soot and Fury-only-knew what else. He grabbed Zenos’ wrist, though, and pushed his hand away while squirmed backwards to escape the intrusion. “Take that armor off first,” he insisted, brushing some of his now-loose white hair back behind a pointed ear and out of his face as he rose from the sofa to stand over the Prince.

“ _You_ , ordering me--” Zenos began with feigned offense, but Riol cut him off, leaning closer and snatching a fistful of the Garlean’s blond hair. Then he pulled, gently but insistently, to jerk his head to one side.

“ _Armor. Off_ ,” the Eikon Slayer snarled. A dangerous play, but one that had come more quickly to Riol’s mind than in the moment than the fear of retaliation. However, the distinct spark of interest in the Prince’s crystal-blue eyes told Riol that he had, in fact, made the correct move.

“Well, well,” Zenos breathed, remaining perfectly still even as the dragoon released him and stepped back. “I would not do this for anyone else, but since you insist.” The smile lingered on his lips, and he kept his friend fixed with his gaze as he removed his gauntlets, then his elaborate pauldrons and breastplate. The plate armor had certainly been designed to give the Crown Prince a more formidable figure, but even without it, he was built distinctly larger than the Elezen man. His garb beneath his armor was similar to what Riol wore, but this close, it was clear the embroidery and craftsmanship were meant for a royal. 

Riol had not thought much before on whether or not he found Zenos’ size, the ease with which he could toss him around, as an attractive quality, but now it seemed impossible that he had never noticed. Unflinching from the other man’s eye contact, he kicked away a few of the shed pieces of armor and moved to straddle his lap, half-sitting on the tassets and cuisses he still wore, and half-kneeling on the cushions on either side. 

In their battles, their dances, the dragoon had necessarily relied more upon his agility, the nimbleness of his jumps than the force of his blows, because he knew he could not overpower Zenos in raw strength. The Garlean reminded him of this by dragging him closer, giving him another rough kiss before taking his turn at biting Riol’s lips. The lancer laughed softly and tangled his fingers into his friend’s long blond hair, before yanking on it to force Zenos to tilt his head back. Then the Eikon Slayer’s teeth were at his prince’s exposed throat, nipping just hard enough to command his attention. He could feel it when the blond man gave a pleased sigh.

“Still want my teeth in your jugular?” Riol murmured, then grunted as he felt Zenos grab him again around the waist. He kept his hold on his hair, while with a more gentle touch of his lips and tongue, he sought the pulse point at the side of his neck. The Garlean slid one hand under Riol’s shirt to rake his nails across the skin of his lower back, and at his urging, the lancer bit down, hard enough to leave a mark. Both of them were breathing harder when the Elezen relented, and he lightly kissed the newly-bruised spot on Zenos’ neck once more before sitting back. 

The Prince slowly opened his eyes, enough to fix his friend with a half-lidded glance, and reached up to trace his fingertips lightly over the new mark on his fair skin. “You’re an even better whore than Yotsuyu,” he said with a small laugh.

Riol recoiled slightly, glowering at the other man’s words. Briefly, he considered expressing his displeasure with his teeth again, but realized a second later that it would not likely come across as a negative thing. So he stood up, slipping away from Zenos, and stepped back.

“No,” the blond man quickly amended, with a grimace of frustration. “I meant-- these urges I could attend to well enough myself, but I trust you will make this worth my while.”

Zenos started to rise from the sofa, but Riol shoved him back onto the cushions. “If you want anything from me, you would do well to remember that I’m not here for your  _ use _ ,” he reminded the Garlean, an edge to his tone. “Make it worth my while, too.” Then he turned away and moved to sit at the edge of the bed he had been provided, kicking off his boots along the way. 

Once the Elezen started to pull off his padded jacket and undershirt, the blond man stood again and worked on the rest of his own armor. He allowed his belts and the tattered Ala Mhigan robes he wore at his waist to clatter to the floor, followed then by the remaining pieces of plate that guarded his legs. 

“I will consider forgiving you,” the lancer said at last as Zenos joined him at the edge of the bed, figuring he was not likely to get an apology. The stretch of silence had left a decidedly satisfying look of discomfort on the man’s face, at least.

Then the Garlean pushed the slate-skinned elf down onto his back on the furniture, and scratched his nails lightly down his bare chest. “Allow me to plead my case,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss him again. Riol was surprised at how gentle he was at first this time, but a moment later he felt the Prince’s teeth at his lips.

Riol tangled their legs together and embraced the other man, curling his fingers into his long golden hair. Zenos seemed to relish the taste of his mouth, kissing and nipping until Riol’s lips were tender and bruised. Then the Garlean moved lower, skimming his teeth experimentally against the skin of Riol’s neck and shoulders before sinking them in at his collarbone. The lancer yelped, more in surprise than in pain, and squirmed beneath the larger man while pulling again on his hair.

Gooseflesh prickled on the Eikon Slayer’s skin as his Prince’s lips traced lightly over the fresh marks he had just left. When he raised his head a moment later, both of them were panting, and neither could take his eyes from the other’s. Then Zenos’ fingers were in Riol’s mouth again, and he inadvertently echoed the Elezen’s hum around them as he felt the warm wetness of the other man’s tongue.

“Vulgar savage,” he purred, at last removing his hand to wipe his fingers on the blanket. Then, more roughly, the Garlean shoved his thumb into the dragoon’s mouth, pulling to one side and pushing far enough back to keep his teeth forced apart. Riol’s glare was defiant but not unhappy, and he complied as Zenos forced him to turn his head to the side.

Lightly, the Garlean traced his tongue up the side of Riol’s neck, then bit him again, laughing softly as he let out another quiet sound. Then Zenos continued with more determination, listening to the moans his Eikon Slayer could not hold back as he left several more emphatic marks with his teeth. Riol struggled beneath him, gnawed at his thumb, and attempted to get some measure of revenge by sweeping Zenos’ hair into his face, until the Prince caught one of his wrists with his free hand to pin his arm down. 

When Zenos paused again to catch his breath, he took he took a minute to savor the sight of his former enemy and dearest friend pinned beneath him, willingly at his mercy and drooling around his hand. Riol peered back as well as he could with his head wrenched to one side, and one corner of his mouth twitched into something that might have been a grin before he bit down on the Garlean’s thumb again. Zenos released his wrist and immediately grasped his face in both hands, leaving his finger where it was, before leaning down to kiss the Elezen roughly again. A quiet moan escaped him this time as he felt Riol finally let go of his hair in favor of wrapping both arms around him, and he felt him arching his back subtly as Zenos ventured to slide his tongue into the dragoon’s mouth as well.

When the blond man finally released his grasp on his face and removed his thumb, Riol made one last nip at his hand. Once Zenos’ weight was off of him, the lancer sat up, wiping his mouth and chin on the back of his wrist while he worked his jaw. Then the Prince’s fingers were tangled in his now-thoroughly messy white hair again, half-urging and half-dragging him into his lap. Riol growled and struggled as much as was comfortable, but allowed it; they both knew this had to be a fight, too, in some measure, to truly satisfy them.

“There is no small chance you could be dead by this time tomorrow, one of more than a dozen ways.” Zenos’ breath was hot against the array of fresh bites and bruises he had left on the Elezen’s neck. “And yet you still are not afraid of me, of any of this. You beautiful fool….” 

Riol moaned as the Garlean jerked him closer by the hair and bit down on his ear. Aroused as he was on top of everything else, the dragoon frankly felt invincible. 

“Are you going to take the rest of your clothes off?” he growled in reply. “Or must I do it for you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zenos just has so much hair to pull. orz


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nastrond is the afterlife promised to murderers and the disloyal, to suffer under Nidhogg's claws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asahi makes his appearance, though with circumstances what they are here versus in the canon MSQ, I don't think there are really any spoilers for 4.3+? 
> 
> Heads-up for implied rough sex, and (separately) very vaguely implied Zenos/Asahi.  
>  ~~Events occurring between Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 have been left as an exercise to the reader.~~

The next morning when Riol opened his eyes, he found himself on the floor of his guest quarters beside the bed, tangled in blankets and wearing nothing but his armored gauntlets. His mouth ached, his neck and shoulders ached, his back ached, and his thighs ached, but he still felt positively electric. Pulling off the metal gloves, he swept his tangled white hair out of his face, and picked a few long strands of golden hair out of his mouth before sitting up.

Zenos was gone already, all of his armor and clothing with him; Riol had been under no illusions that he would somehow wake up in the man’s arms, but he was a bit disappointed that the Prince’s moving around had not awakened him sooner. Like he had let his guard down.

Though he was alone in the room, the Eikon Slayer wrapped himself up in the blanket as he climbed to his feet. The air still felt a bit cool, and something about the size of the room made his skin prickle more with gooseflesh. Not to mention he was in dire need of a shower. 

After taking a few minutes to thoroughly stretch his back out, Riol fetched a freshly-pressed Imperial uniform and made his way to the private bathroom off of the guest quarters. The foreign shower fixture had nearly as many buttons and dials as Wedge’s latest Thermocoil Boilmaster, and (Riol discovered) could produce water just as hot. Once he managed to get the water to an acceptable temperature and keep it there, though, the dragoon washed away all that soap and water could handle, leaving behind only the array of bite marks and bruises the Prince had left on his skin. And those, fortunately, his uniform hid well.

Once he was dressed and armored, with his lance across his back and his helm tucked under one arm, Riol stepped out of his room into the Garlean Palace. The guide who had brought him to the room the day before had told him where he would find the barracks cafeteria for his breakfast, and Riol was fairly certain he was still able to find it; everything Imperial had identical walls and hallways, but the lancer was finally starting to feel like his it might be aiding to develop his sense of direction.

There were few soldiers of the rank-and-file this deep in the palace, but a few of higher rank still passed Riol. With their helms in place, he could not see whatever looks they might have given him, but overall, everyone seemed to have grown at least tolerating, if not comfortable, with the Eikon Slayer in their midst. And he had certainly become more accepting in turn. Spending so much time at Zenos’ side, hearing the Prince demand his underlings treat him properly… to some degree he felt untouchable. 

Yet it was lonely. The Imperials rarely seemed given to small-talk; Riol imagined because it was not often permitted. Everything in Garlemald worked like a machine, where cogs that did not operate in perfect time could be easily replaced. Zenos had even permitted and encouraged him to remove broken pieces himself, offering disposable soldiers to act as fodder for his weapon and examples of his mastery of Nidhogg’s fury. 

The Elezen nearly jumped then, as, almost to prove him wrong, a sudden and rather surprisingly cheerful voice from behind him tried to catch his attention: “Ah, if it isn’t our new Eikon Slayer!” 

He stopped and turned to see a young man wearing white Doman-style armor and an earnest grin, quickening his pace to catch up with him. Short dark hair framed his face, and his garb marked him as a man of rank in spite of the fact that he looked perhaps half Riol’s age.

“I have been looking forward to meeting you,” he greeted, stopping an arm’s length away. Riol stared at him a moment, wondering now just how much the other soldiers passing him in the palace halls knew about him. The Doman Tribunus inclined his chin slightly, the smile on his lips twisting ever so slightly as he added with an edge, “It is customary in Garlemald to greet your superiors with a salute, Duplicarius.”

Riol immediately tensed, but rendered an Imperial salute for him nonetheless. “Sir.” Funny, how he had learned the gesture so long before to infiltrate Castrum Centri, and now here he was, infiltrating the very Palace itself.

Given the respect he had demanded, the young Tribunus’ manner became sweet again; the dragoon felt precisely zero sincerity in his smile this time. “I can forgive you your ignorance, since I understand you are a fairly recent defector,” he said. “My name is Asahi sas Brutus. I also serve under Lord Zenos, and so I thought it proper to introduce myself, since I imagine we will no doubt run into each other in the course of our duties.”

“Of course,” Riol replied as politely as he could manage. “Well met.” Already the young man’s eyes held a razor’s edge of jealousy as his gaze traced over the mark of the Crown Prince’s teeth on the dragoon’s lips.

Yet Asahi’s smile remained frustratingly self-assured. “Would you care to join me in the officers’ mess this morning?” It was not a question.

The Eikon Slayer nodded, and fell in step behind the Tribunus while he lead the way down the windowless hallways, their shadows changing between red and blue as they passed the tinted artificial lights. Their destination was not far, and within a few minutes, they were both seated with their food across from each other at a small table. Riol’s stew he had on the table before him smelled not unlike Ishgardian fare... if the Holy See believed that garlic could repel dragons. There had been Doman chopsticks available, but Asahi had opted for Garlean cutlery. The mess was populated but not terribly crowded, and the quiet murmur of other conversations filled the room.

“I understand Lord Zenos has grown quite fond of you,” The young Doman said. He fixed Riol with a scrutinizing gaze for a long moment before glancing down to remove his gauntlets. 

The muscles in Riol’s legs twitched slightly, and he felt the sting Zenos’ teeth had left along his inner thighs, but focused on keeping his voice neutral and gave a small shrug. “I suppose so. Apparently fond enough to ask me to join you here in your quest against the eikon threat. We’re of the same mind in that regard.” He removed his own gloves and picked up his fork, nudging some of his food around his place before glancing up again at Asahi.

“‘Of the same mind’?” the young Tribunus scoffed, almost playfully. “Except when you came at the head of an Eorzean army to drive him from his seat as Viceroy of Ala Mhigo. You were slaughtering Imperials scarcely three weeks ago, no?”

“Battlefields change,” the dragoon replied, feeling a knot in his stomach forming at having to justify his actions to another Imperial. He had come for Zenos, not for Garlemald, somehow forgetting that it was hardly possible to separate the two completely. 

Maybe Zenos had forgotten, too.

Asahi nodded with a skeptical smile, then fell silent to work on his meal for several minutes. Riol forced himself to eat a bit, as well, to try to mask his discomfort by appearing like nothing was wrong. 

When the Tribunus spoke again, he inquired, “So you are something like a weapon, then, just to fight the Eikons? Is that how you see yourself? Now passed from the Eorzean barbarians to the hands of the Empire, for Lord Zenos to wield?” He raised his napkin to his mouth, wiping a spot of something from his chin, and when he lowered it again, the insincere smile had returned to his lips.

The sentiment was something that Riol had felt before, on more than one occasion. He was no diplomat like Alphinaud, no scholar like Y’shtola or Urianger, no spy like Thancred, no clerk like Tataru. But hearing the bitterness in this boy’s voice as he voiced it aloud hurt a bit more than the lancer had expected. He tried to remind himself that his niche  _ was  _ fighting the eikons, it was his worth to the world. Something Garlemald wanted just as much as the Scions. Something the world needed. A sainted murderer whose blade simply pointed parallel to the direction of those writing the Eorzean histories.

“The Twelfth Legion’s campaign to quash the rebellion in Ala Mhigo led to the summoning of an eikon,” Riol reminded Asahi. He licked his lips, suddenly dry yet tender from the previous night, and went on, “And your mercenary Kojin in Doma did much the same. I saved Imperials as much as anyone else, putting those beast gods down.”   


“And for that, Lord Zenos has named you Imperial Eikon Slayer, and a citizen, just like that,” Asahi mused, seeming more to think on it himself than to needle Riol, this time. Then he shrugged slightly and added, “How I hope to be there when you do slay your first eikon on behalf of Garlemald. And in the meanwhile, I hope you will treasure the privilege our Prince has given you. More than you did your prior citizenship.”

The mark of Zenos’ teeth in Riol’s collarbone, well-hidden by armor and the collar of his uniform, seemed to burn in his skin. Fury forgive him, he  _ was  _ a gods-damned traitor now. But he kept his temper in check and his disquiet bottled up, and replied with a cloying tone mirroring Asahi’s, “With the fine welcome I’ve received, how could I not?”

The fair-skinned boy gave a sweet, vicious grin in return. Then he leaned slightly across the table, dropping all pretense, and hissed, “I care not how many eikons you slay under an Imperial banner, Warrior of Light, I do not trust you. If you harm Lord Zenos, by your spear or by your treachery, I will make you  _ wish  _ he had cut you apart in battle.”

Emphatically, Asahi stabbed his fork into one of the pieces of meat on his plate. “If you are merely playing at being one of us, you had best be committed to it. I will petition our lord to place you in a training regiment so you can learn how to behave here in Garlemald.” With a wicked gleam in his dark eyes, he gestured vaguely to his own lips with the bite of food before eating it from his fork. And once he had swallowed, he added, “As I understand it, you have yet to do us any favors, so do not think that your  _ position under Lord Zenos _ will afford you limitless special treatment.”

Riol’s lip curled, a retort swelling on his tongue with his growing ire. “A more comfortable  _ position _ than your own?” he snapped, unable to hold back the reckless words, as he rose to his feet. At once he had given the Tribunus credence to his insidious accusation and sanction for his retribution, but the young Doman had long exceeded the limits of his patience. It was stupid, but in this moment, Riol hardly cared.

Nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath to quell his own temper, Asahi stood as well, and allowed his utensils to fall to the tray. The ambient sound of conversations in the rest of the officers’ mess hall collectively inhaled away to momentary silence, creating a tense vacuum in the air. Then the Tribunus struck Riol across the jaw suddenly with the back of his hand, cutting the Duskwight’s already-bruised lip between knuckles and teeth.

“You would do well to begin here by learning how to show your superior officers and our Crown Prince due respect,  _ Duplicarius _ ,” Asahi hissed venomously.

The Eikon Slayer chuckled softly, a reckless gleam in his eye, as he licked a trickle of blood from his mouth and watched the Tribunus turned on his heel to return his tray and depart. Riol would hardly go running to his Prince to tell of this slight like a child running to his mother, but he knew that Zenos would not suffer this-- this  _ boy _ harming his dear friend.

With the Doman gone, Riol settled back down into his chair, listening to the buzz of the other Imperials’ chatter gradually return to the room while he finished his meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all don't mind my taking liberties with canon outside of the AU thing ~~like Asahi being able to reach Riol's face without a step stool~~.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No man is an island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a bit longer. I caught up to what I had drafted and then needed to do a bit of rewrite. Getting close to the end, though - I'll probably finish up at 12 or 13 chapters o u o.

Riol quickly discovered his leash in the Palace was far shorter than the one Zenos had allowed him in the castrum. It did not take him long to exhaust places to explore; once he had, the Elezen decided to return to his guest quarters in hopes of avoiding further encounters with Asahi. He could not be certain in the maze of hallways, but there were several points where Riol was not confident that he was not being followed.

Unfortunately, his plan to avoid the Doman Tribunus backfired as he found him in the hall not far from his quarters. Zenos was with him, apparently relaying orders; both men turned their attention to the Eikon Slayer as he rounded the corner, and the Prince motioned curtly for Riol to join them.

Doing his level best not to look at the black-haired boy, the dragoon saluted them both. What felt like an uncomfortable eternity stretched as Riol’s thoughts scrambled for an explanation as to why the blond man needed to talk to him, and with Asahi there besides. If this had to do with the hostilities during breakfast … well, Riol was anything but sorry. And if it was about the night before, there was certainly no reason for the Tribunus’ presence. The bruises at Zenos’ lips stood out even more on his pale skin, and the fine hairs at the back of the lancer’s neck prickled at how the Prince stared down his nose with disdainful boredom at both of them in equal measure. Not to mention Asahi appeared smugly pleased in a manner that only added to Riol’s unease.

In truth, only a second or two passed before the Zenos handed Riol a small, fine envelope, closed with an elaborate wax seal. His name - with its Imperial title thrust into the middle like a Garlean flag into Coerthan soil -  was written in a spidery hand on the front. Frowning with more than a touch of worry, the Elezen turned it over in his hands before carefully slipping his thumb into the envelope to break the seal. As he pulled out the page contained within, Zenos began to speak, describing the missive’s content.

“Orders from Emperor Varis zos Galvus himself, for the Tribunus Asahi sas Brutus and Duplicarius Riol oen Kergadarvan,” he said, tone dry but nonetheless commanding their attention. “My father has commanded the pair of you to return to Ala Mhigo together with a contingent of what remains of the Twelfth Legion. As you know, Shinryuu remains bound in a magitek prison in the Royal Palace there.”

Riol glanced briefly to Asahi, who had given up glowering at the Eikon Slayer in favor of gazing up at the Prince as though transfixed by every word he spoke. A sick feeling was coiling its way into his stomach, and not just at the thought of an airship ride with the young Tribunus. 

“There, the Duplicarius will take up his mantle as Imperial Eikon Slayer,” continued the Crown Prince. “However, he is to slay Shinryuu  _ only  _ after an agreement has been secured for the surrender of the territory of Ala Mhigo. I have already explained the negotiations to the Tribunus, who will act as Ambassador Plenipotentiary on behalf of Garlemald.” He looked down at the Elezen, expression unreadable as he briefly made eye contact. Riol gathered that these … orders meant that the Emperor had spared his life, but now he dreaded where the words on the page he held would place him, what he would be asked to do.

“If the Eorzean Alliance will not cede the land, its people, and its resources unconditionally, you will disable the field containing Shinryuu. No need to make it look like an accident. The Alliance barbarians will suspect our hand whether we try or not. And then you will allow the Eikon to rampage.” 

The dragoon nodded, but felt his veins turn to ice. This.. this was a line he could not cross.

“I will follow your party after several days to a week with reinforcements, and, regardless of how the Alliance answers, my troops and I will retake the Royal Palace.” Zenos looked to Riol again and smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “Then you will save what savages remain from the eikon in the name of the Empire.”

The expression faded in an instant as he turned his attention back to Asahi. “As I was explaining before the Duplicarius joined us, the details of your negotiations are contained with the orders from the Emperor. Take care to become familiar with all of our stipulations, as I understand the Eorzeans employ silver-tongued negotiators.”

“Of course, Lord Zenos!” the Doman replied, snapping to attention with an eager smile on his lips. “I shall endeavor to exceed your expectations, so that we will soon drive the Eorzean rebels back!” 

“Tribunus, prepare yourself and your contingent and be ready to depart in four days’ time.” After Asahi did not immediately turn to leave, Zenos pressed, “You are dismissed. I must speak to the Eikon Slayer regarding his orders, and including the functioning of Shinryuu’s prison.”

Riol was anesthetized to Asahi’s parting glare. The Garlean Prince bade him follow and he did so, allowing his feet carry him down the metal corridors without quite realizing that Zenos was leading him away from his quarters, then past a cluster of guards to a lift. The lancer’s mind struggled to find some sort of traction to plan, to figure out how he was going to avoid this complete betrayal of his homeland, some way to escape, but all of his thoughts felt too far distant.

So it was a bit of a surprise when Zenos finally led him through an ornate doorway into a private room. It might have been an armory, for all the blades that filled it: broken and whole, on display, discarded on the floor, in various states of assembly or repair…. 

“Sit,” Zenos directed, pointing to one of a pair of sofas that sat across from each other, with a low table in between. He crossed the room then to remove the heavy holster at his hip that carried another trio of katana; the lancer dropped onto the stiffly-padded couch at the same time, and he was not sure whether the heavy clank came from himself or from the Prince tossing aside his bulky sword apparatus. 

This time, a long stretch of silence did pass while both men meditated on their options. Riol had come all this way originally to kill Zenos, bringing with him the assumption from the start that he was not likely to return to Eorzea alive. If he followed through, the rest of the Empire would come crashing down on him, and Ala Mhigo would be left to contend with the eikon without his help. If Riol followed these orders to return to the Menagerie, on the other hand, he might have a chance to strike at Shinryuu before it could do any damage … but that battle would be anything but quick or subtle, and he did not doubt that Asahi would interfere.

Returning at the head of an Imperial army was almost worse than not returning at all, but it also afforded Riol the possibility of striking out against Shinryuu. Any warrior with enough strength might be able to bring Zenos down, but far fewer were born with the Echo that gave him the ability to stand against eikons. 

Or perhaps Riol was merely looking for an excuse to avoid killing the man who had become his friend. He had also come to share the company of a man who would never think him a monster for all the violence he carried with him.

To remind him of that, Nidhogg’s voice whispered at the back of his mind, the gnawing rage in his blood that spoke in that ancient language he could nonetheless understand: maybe he  _ could _ carry out the Emperor’s orders, maybe he  _ needed to _ . To turn Shinryuu loose and allow it to wreak his own vengeance now. Upon Ishgard, for locking him out as a low-born outsider, not caring what he sacrificed for his homeland; upon Gridania, to which he had fled as a refugee, only to be spat on for the color of his skin; upon Limsa Lominsa, for forcing him to stand against Titan and Leviathan both because the pirates could not honor their own gods-damned treaties; upon Ul’dah for dragging him into the pit of vipers that their pursuit of coin had placed in power….

Riol leaned back on the sofa, staring upwards at the metal ceiling and the cold white lights that illuminated it. Zenos would tell him how to free the eikon, and he could simply let it go. Shinryuu could burn the land until the people of Eorzea truly appreciated what their  _ Warrior of Light _ endured again and again to keep them from ruin. How badly, the Wicked Dragon’s whispers reasoned, would the Scions and the Alliance want him back? What price would they pay, and would the Empire match it? Garlemald’s treaties and ultimata be damned, even, so long as the Eikon Slayer did his duty in the end. If Riol had the strength to stand beside Zenos, then he more than had the strength to stand against the rest of Eorzea and demand his fair price.

He could hear Zenos pacing the room like a lion, similarly mired in his own thoughts. He occasionally picked up one of the swords that littered the room or tossed one aside, but otherwise seethed in his own silence. It would hardly damage Riol’s esteem in his friend’s eyes if he wanted to be selfish. If he went where he wanted to go for once, rather where the Scions pointed. The Prince had even urged him to do so.

Gradually, Riol began to feel a searing heat in his shoulder where Zenos had stabbed him weeks before. His gauntleted hand strayed to linger over the spot, long mended by white magic but still tender at times … and severely close to his heart. He had never really thought how that wound might have been the closest he had yet come to death until now.

Gods, what manner of knight  _ was _ he? All of his boyhood, Riol had looked up to the professional soldiers of his homeland, aching to be recognized for his own service to Ishgard and to the Fury. And his own dear departed companion Haurchefant had been a knight inculpable, an exemplary man who had given even his life - gladly! - in service to Ishgard, to Riol. He still cared too much, he realized, was loathe to dishonor his friend’s memory in such a way. That he had truly, if briefly, entertained the thought of turning his back on his own principles made his stomach twist in a knot.

Squeezing his eyes shut, the lancer sat forward again and held his head in his hands. Even with Nidhogg dead twice over, he had to be vigilant against the Wyrm’s temptations so long as he carried that blood within him. Or his own dark thoughts, that scathing bitterness that he could not blame on the Wicked Dragon, both that Halone had instructed him to reject and that his own ethics told him was wrong. He was a murderer, yes, and a murderer he would remain; Zenos would never judge him for it, but there were lines Riol could not force himself to cross. His one candle of life mattered to so many, and he simply could not allow himself shameful cruelty of lording it over those people he had previously fought so hard to protect.

The Warrior of Light, whatever man had first stepped onto the Imperial airship in Ala Mhigo, had followed Zenos back to the heart of his Empire in order to keep the Crown Prince of Garlemald from visiting his violent desires on the smallfolk of Eorzea. Now, the man who would be Eikon Slayer hoped his friend would allow him to visit his own anger and spite upon him in return. Just as it seemed Zenos had needed Riol’s affection more than either of them had known, Riol ached for Zenos to embrace him in spite of the repugnant wrath he harbored in his own heart. Or because of it.

The Garlean’s words were the first to break the room’s silence, and the first sound to jerk Riol out of his dark contemplation. “ _ Damn _ the Emperor!  _ Damn  _ Garlemald!  _ Damn  _ Ala Mhigo!” he snarled.

The blond man took another katana blade from one of the tables, bare and disassembled. Then, with half a step back, he swung downwards with the blade, turning the flat of the it at the last moment to hit the edge of the furniture upon which it had been resting. The metal broke cleanly but noisily on contact with the edge of the surface, and Zenos let the ruined piece fall from his hand to clatter to the floor.

Riol flinched only slightly at the sudden discordant ring of metal. Whatever rage and bitterness he could channel through his blood, Halone may never forgive, Eorzea may never forgive, but Zenos would revel in it. He could trust no one else with these feelings.

With a growl, the Prince grabbed another one of his discarded blades and jabbed it into the steel wall with enough force to break the tip off. It was an usual display of unrestrained anger from him, Riol gradually registered. Perhaps the two of them were more perfect for each other than they had realized. The Garlean was quite fervid, yet few things moved him to show that passion. Weighed down by all of his internal expectations, and, it seemed, external ones, as well. Just as carrying the weight of his own world constantly dragged at the erstwhile Warrior of Light.

“This … this is not  _ right _ ,” Zenos growled between his teeth. “You are not meant to be my vanguard, nor my father’s underling to order about,” he went on, lip curling in anger as he turned to stalk back across the room. He snatched up a third katana, this one complete but smeared with dried blood that flaked in places. 

Riol studied the sharpened edge of the weapon as Zenos crossed the room to join him. The white-haired dragoon rose smoothly to his feet and moved to meet the Garlean, standing close enough that their breastplates touched. He retrieved his lance and held it at his side in one hand, placing the other against his friend’s armor between them.

There was still anger in the Garlean’s tone, but he had it again under tight control now. “You are no defector, my friend, and I never wanted you for Garlemald, anyway. You are  _ mine _ .” 

“I need to go back,” Riol told him. He took a deep breath of his own and let it out slowly. Back to be the big damn hero that he could not trust anyone else to be.

“I need to send you back to Eorzea, to the savages of the Alliance,” Zenos agreed, bitter reluctance in his voice. This time, his eyes held anything but boredom as he peered down into his Eikon Slayer’s eyes.

The Garlean kept his blade lowered as he reached up with his other hand to trace his fingertips lightly along his friend’s jaw. At the same time, Riol curled his own fingers over the front edge of Zenos’ breastplate. With a sudden yank, he pulled the taller man down slightly, just enough to whisper in his ear, “Before any of that, though, I need you to try, with all of your heart, to kill me.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steel can't deflect all blows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight spoilers for 4.2-4.4 re: bits of Garlean politics?

“Have you ever thought of taking up the sword?” Zenos’ voice was low and relaxed. He rested comfortably against a careful stack of pillows in his bed, bare-chested save for the numerous bandages wrapped around his body and limbs. The royal chirurgeons had repaired the worst of the damage Riol had done with his glorified pitchfork, but healing took time, even when magical.

“Not particularly,” the Elezen replied. “I know a bit of the very basics, but I much prefer what I’m already used to.” He was in a similar state of undress, nestled against the Garlean and his collection of bedding, with his head resting against one of the few spots on Zenos’ chest that did not bear bruises or stitches. At first glance, Riol looked as though he had fared better in their last bout, as he was wrapped in less gauze, but his features seemed hollow and his slate skin robbed of some color. The healers in the Palace had been pressed to mend the Eikon Slayer more quickly, since he only had two days before the Emperor required him to depart for Ala Mhigo, and mending so much at once had taken its own toll.

Zenos’ traced his pale fingers up and down the dragoon’s arm gently as he held him in an untroubled embrace. “A commoner’s weapon?”

“I am a commoner,” Riol reminded him. “And a spear is a fine weapon. Ishgardians had a thousand years to perfect the technique to wield one, to keep dragons at a distance.”

“A peasant like you could pretend it was a farm tool, and less steel went to waste when that peasant got himself eaten,” Zenos teased. “I do not doubt you have the ability to pick up a more refined weapon.”

“Ouch,” the lancer said with mock offense, knowing it was true. He moved his head just enough to brush his lips and then his teeth against the Garlean’s jaw before resting his temple against the man’s chest again. “Besides, I seem to fare well enough against your ‘refined’ weapons already.” Lightly, Riol traced fingertips along Zenos’ bare skin, mottled with bruises, and pressed tenderly on one of the darker marks, just enough to get a quiet grunt of discomfort from him.

“Alright, alright,” the Prince murmured, and closed his eyes. The Eikon Slayer was comfortable in his arms like this, radiating warmth that he could feel easing the knots in his muscles. Zenos’ third eye perceived the subtle rise and fall of Riol’s chest with his breathing, which had been distracting at first, especially with the other man this close, but he was finally growing accustomed to it. It was … calming.

Zenos tipped his head down just enough to press his lips lightly to the bridge of the Elezen’s nose. He could feel the warmth of swelling beneath Riol’s slate skin still, even though the broken bone he had inflicted outwardly appeared healed. There was also the scar across his face, too, old and jagged over the Eikon Slayer’s freckles, which Zenos followed with his tongue. He felt the ghost of the other man’s eyelashes against his cheek, and smiled at his dear friend’s quiet hum as Riol squirmed away, just far enough to place his own lips to Zenos’ mouth instead.

“Don’t be weird,” Riol admonished quietly a few moments later when they parted. 

Zenos laughed quietly, then winced slightly as the tiny movement twinged at his mending wounds. “I will do as I please with you.”

“Not like that you won’t.” The dragoon placed a hand gently on his shoulder and brushed his thumb over the spot on Zenos’ collarbone where he had fractured it. The Garlean inhaled sharply again, gritting his teeth, and relaxed reluctantly against the stack of pillows. It had taken the two of them nearly fifteen minutes or so to arrange themselves comfortably in the Prince’s bed like this, working around the myriad injuries they had visited upon each other.

“I am loathe to give you back,” he sighed after Riol kissed him again. Even when he made it hurt, the other man’s touch was warm and familiar. His Eikon Slayer had been his first friend to understand the exhilaration of battle, to indulge him in bloodshed as often as he desired as a worthy opponent, but also the first to dare to come this close to him. “Whiling away the quiet hours” had once been a hollow promise meant only to entice this kindred spirit to his side, but it had backfired when Zenos realized having the other man close at hand made these hours outside of combat bearable. 

Zenos had doubted he would find anyone like this in the world, and now that he had found one man, he was all the more certain he would never find another. On the other hand, though, it seemed that not even this was meant to be. 

“Mm, that reminds me,” the Garlean went on, pushing Riol back slightly so he could shift his position as comfortably as possible. “I believe I have a way out for you.”

“Oh?” 

“A man named Maxima, an attaché to Asahi. If you tell him to smuggle you back to the Alliance, I am all but certain he could arrange it.” The idea had come to him that morning, as welcome as it was ironic. Zenos had long hated the hollow posturing of playing court politics, to the irritation and disapproval of his father. But this could provide the means to his ends, and also give him the opportunity to have the last laugh behind the Emperor’s back.

Riol’s brows furrowed, clearly not wanting to have to think about all of that at the moment, though his life depended on it. “You trust him?”

Zenos scoffed. “Not in the slightest.” Maxima was known to be an important part of the budding anti-expansionist movement within Garlemald who called themselves the Populares. The Crown Prince would have killed him already if Yotsuyu had not proven that there was some benefit to keeping potential sources of information close at hand. And here he was, coming in useful. “But that is precisely why you should be able to.”

The Eikon Slayer took a deep breath and let it out slowly, mulling it over before nodding. “Alright.” He had little choice.

“I can show you a picture of his face so you will know him, and I will ensure tomorrow that you cross paths so you can make introductions,” the Garlean offered, and Riol nodded again before returning to resting his head against Zenos’ chest. “After that, I must leave the rest to you two. Plausible deniability on my part.”

He fell quiet then in thought, and Zenos subtly tightened his embrace. Their last fight had shown the Garlean that his friend had grown weaker over time. He fought best when he stood with someone at his back to protect. The Prince had drawn out his delicious bloodlust and vicious anger over this time they had spent together, but it seemed while he could take the knight out of Ishgard, he could not take Ishgard out of the knight. 

It was strange, now that Riol seemed to have found a fleeting reason to fear his death here, it hampered him in battle. 

And Zenos had been afraid to kill him. It was why, in spite of his weaknesses, the dragoon had been the decided winner of their bout. Zenos  _ wanted _ him to go back to Eorzea, even as much as he did not want to let him go. It was … a confusing feeling. It was one thing to sense the loss of a friend through his Resonant eyes in Riol’s mind, but quite another to know he would have to experience it himself. The price that had to be paid for this time of comfort and closeness, perhaps. Or, more accurately, the price for their foolishness. Both warriors should have known from the first how this was meant to end.

The Garlean rested his cheek against the top of Riol’s head for a moment, then finally murmured, “I love you.” 

Riol’s shoulders shook subtly with a short laugh. “No, you don’t.” Zenos raised his head again, and Riol did the same to look him in the eye. “You are a selfish monster who has found a thing he wants but cannot have.” He leaned close, canting his head ever so slightly to one side in what Zenos understood to be a request for another kiss. The Prince indulged him, and could feel the Elezen’s smile as he did so.

“And you are a pompous ass who has found something he cannot admits he needs,” the Garlean countered at last, lingering close enough that their noses still touched. “You think me in need of saving, from something for which you cannot forgive yourself.”

“I hate you,” the Eikon Slayer purred.

“Lies are ill-suited for that tongue of yours,” Zenos chided him fondly. “Wait until Ala Mhigo when we next cross blades. Whatever man you wanted me to be, I had slain him ere you met him. I hope then to see your revenge, but no more of your pity.” Carefully, he reached up to stroke his fingertips over Riol’s hair. “I would still very much like see you protect all those people from me, as well, even as you hate them for leaving you no choice but to be their protector.”

The dragoon traced his fingers more gently this time over the pale skin of Zenos’ neck and chest unmarked by fresh wounds. “Whatever man you wanted me to be, you could never take all of him with you from Eorzea. But I promise you’ll get to see him again, when we fight again for Ala Mhigo’s fate, and when I dispatch your favorite eikon.” His fingertips paused over the marks of his teeth in the Garlean’s skin from a few nights prior, and Zenos shivered.

The Crown Prince’s bedroom was one of the few in the palace with true windows. It was dark outside, but the metal slats that covered the glass were halfway open. From below, spotlights and the general glow of the rest of the palace compound shone into his quarters in stripes across ceiling. The Garlean watched the pattern of light and dark reflected off the metal until his eyes grew heavy and he closed them. And even then, as he dozed off, he could see the subtle movements of the other man nestled against him while he slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've got two chapters left for this one, three tops =O Thanks, all, for sticking it out with me thus far!
> 
> ~~Spoiler this chapter has more Maxima than 4.4 did~~


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Falling back right into the system of  
> Falling back on all that's erased  
> When fighting back right out of this system  
> Means falling back right into this space"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uHH Heads-up for 4.3+ spoilers from here on out.

In the few hours he had been afforded to get to know him, Riol thought Maxima seemed a decent man. With his calm but careful eyes, his quiet charisma, the light furrows that worry had written into his brow before age had been given the chance… the Garlean reminded Riol of Aymeric in no small measure. He could tell that the dark-haired man, polite but taciturn, was assessing him in return as well. The Eikon Slayer’s reputation had apparently preceded him only insofar as Maxima knew that he had come to Garlemald at the personal invitation of the Crown Prince; it was only natural and prudent that he be suspicious.

The hangar that housed the largest of the military airships served as their forum for discussion; swarms of engineers and the officers of the Twelfth Legion milled about the airship Alcyoneus, preparing it for their departure back to Ala Mhigo, and so the expansive vaulted room was filled with chatter and activity. The Pilus had made it clear to Riol that whatever he wished to discuss could be spoken out in the open like this, under the cover of dutiful industry. 

“Far less suspicious at this juncture, to appear engaged rather than hiding away in secret, no?” Maxima had reasoned.

And so they walked together at a tense yet unhurried pace around the great airship. If nothing else, Riol supposed that it would give them a good chance to see the white-armored Asahi approaching from a distance, if the Tribunus decided to drop in on the preparations himself.

Regardless of where he made his case, though, it would serve as an uncomfortable reminder that he was neither negotiator nor infiltrator. If only he could convince Maxima through combat instead. Riol licked his lips nervously and glanced to the Pilus, finally giving up their hollow small-talk to cut to what he needed: “I need your help to find a way back to Eorzea.”

Maxima gave him a wry smile, crows’ feet forming at the corners of his eyes behind his spectacles, then gestured to the Alcyoneus. “How fortunate that you already have this vessel to carry you there. One of the finest airships remaining in our fleet, capable of carrying a full legion and then some.” 

The dragoon took a deep breath and let it out slowly to fend off frustration. “I mean I need to return to the Eorzean Alliance,” he reiterated, trying not to look at all the soldiers milling around him, so close at hand. He had thought his Garlean armor had become like camouflage when he first put it on, but in the time since, Riol had realized that it stood out instead as a favor from Zenos, attracting a different sort of attention. 

And at the moment, more of that sort of attention was coming from the Pilus than from any of the centurions moving about the hangar.

“Wherefore?” Maxima pressed. “As I understand, your orders are to accompany us in order to put down the eikon on behalf of the Empire. Would you not do as much under an Alliance banner?” 

What was Riol supposed to tell him? That it was ‘right’ to go back? While still clad in the armor of the Crown Prince’s personal guest? Or should he instead be walking about in the middle of Garlemald in his old Ishgardian armor? For all that the dragoon had tried to plan out the details of making his case beforehand, he had not gotten very far in his imagination, either.

After a moment, noting that Maxima might have been starting to lose interest in him already, Riol tried again: “Such ... a pity, as I understand it, that one of the foremost voices of the Populares has been asked to aid in delivering so hostile a message to a disputed province.” Gods, he could almost imagine Alphinaud laughing at him.

Still, his halting remark seemed to catch the Pilus’ attention, and Maxima nodded slowly. “It does come as a comfort that Lord Zenos’ pet Eikon Slayer thinks so,” he replied. He arched one brow in subtle concern as he glanced to Riol, as though hoping the words had not cut him too deeply. Or, no -- he was confirming that they  _ had _ .

Riol winced, his mouth hung open a moment before he managed, “I think Eorzea’s Warrior of Light would be sympathetic to your cause, as well, if… you might be able to help me relay a message to him?”

Maxima studied him for a long moment, then his eyes softened and he nodded. “That I may be able to help you with.” He stopped walking, looking up at the great steel monstrosity of the Alcyoneus looming above them, and tapped his chin in thought. Riol stopped beside him, following his gaze and trying to keep still as he found himself torn between wanting to make some suggestion, and knowing that he had next to nothing to contribute in this situation.

At last, the Pilus pushed his glasses up his nose slightly and glanced back to the Elezen. “Have you anything to offer in return for this favor? Information the Prince may have shared that you could pass along?”

Riol chewed his lower lip, forgetting that doing so would damage the scab where Asahi had hit him. He had certainly found a wealth of information for himself from Zenos, but he highly doubted any of it would be of use to some… political counter-movement. So much of it was deeply personal, hardly strategic.

To give him more time to think, Maxima gestured for the pair of them to begin walking again, and Riol followed him in continuing their circuit around the military airship. The Duskwight hoped that the patient look that had settled onto the Garlean’s avuncular features meant that the Pilus wanted to help him.

“Lord Zenos may have a budding interest in Ishgardian history,” he said at last, recalling that it had come up at one point, weeks ago. That seemed a safe enough thing to share, at least.

To his mild surprise, the dark-haired Garlean shook his head and laughed a bit. “Is that truth or a bit of vanity on your part, Eikon Slayer? Our Crown Prince sees past, present, and future as he sees fit, and then carves it to match his vision.”

“You think him incapable of curiosity?”

“Who could say? If not incapable, at least unwilling to show it publicly.” Maxima gestured to where a trio of engineers were testing the motion mechanisms for one of the Alcyoneus’ large turret guns. “His actions seem to say he cares for little else but bloodshed.” He shrugged, then inquired along a different vein, “Did he quit Ala Mhigo so that he would have the opportunity to conquer it again? Does he want the chance to subdue another nation, as he did putting down the Doman rebellion?”

“I... I’m not sure,” Riol replied carefully. “But he did consider my … capture a certain victory in its own way.”

“Mmm, perhaps.”

“He’s very lonely, you know.”

The Pilus laughed again. “A cage of his own making.”

It was hardly a surprise that the Pilus was not terribly close to his Crown Prince and Legatus, but it made this all the more difficult. There were likely things that the blond Garlean knew about Riol, as well, that none of the Scions would believe if he told them. “Lord Zenos is a better judge of character than you give him credit for, I think,” the dragoon tried again, growing a bit frustrated. “He thinks you an honest man. That’s why he told me I could come to you.” 

At this, the Garlean appeared genuinely shocked. “Did he?” he murmured after a moment, almost more to himself than to Riol. Before either of them could speak again, however, the Eikon Slayer caught sight of a pure white uniform among the black and red of the other Imperials, and moved to touch Maxima’s arm to catch his attention, as well. It was a bit reassuring that Asahi did not seem to be looking for them specifically, as he moved to talk to several other groups of soldiers before he caught sight of his Pilus and the dragoon.

The pair of them saluted by reflex as the Doman joined them. Asahi seemed to be in good spirits, though, which was troubling.

“Preparations are well underway?” the Tribunus inquired.

Maxima nodded, having appeared to collect himself in time. “So it would seem, sir. None of the centurions have reported anything to the contrary.”

“Excellent,” Asahi replied. He put one hand on his hip and looked up to the warship with pleased admiration. “I will have our men start to warm the Alcyoneus’ engines at first light tomorrow, and we should be ready to depart for Doma within two hours after that.”

There was a pause as it took Riol and Maxima both a moment to process his words.

The Garlean was the first to speak: “My understanding was that our mission was to Ala Mhigo, sir. Have they been … amended, then?”

“Oh, yes, recently. Lord Zenos received some information that necessitated a change in plans that could not wait.” The Tribunus spread his arms and smiled to Maxima. “You will be pleased to know that this mission is far less bloody in nature, as well. We wish to try to treat with Doma for peace, or at least a cease-fire.” Then Asahi turned his dark gaze to Riol to add, “And you are to remain here in Garlemald, Eikon Slayer. There is no need to bring any more weapons than necessary for diplomatic missions, I hope you will agree.”

“Why, then, bring the Alcyoneus?” Maxima inquired. He put a hand to the bridge of his nose, either in thought or to adjust his glasses, or to mask the former with the latter. “Will not the battleship’s presence be seen as provocative?”

“Lord Zenos has authorized dispatch of resources to aid in the restoration of Doma,” Asahi explained. “We will require the space the Alcyoneus affords in order to carry our goodwill offerings.”

The Pilus’ features turned from contemplative to more immediately concerned as he clarified, “And all of this cargo is to be loaded by tonight?”

“If at all possible, yes,” the black-haired boy replied, and gestured for Maxima to move along. “I trust your ability to coordinate your centurions to perform their duties in a timely manner. My time will be better spent tending to my other subordinates who require more hand-holding.”

“O-of course, sir,” Maxima replied and saluted before moving away to join the milling soldiers in the hangar. He hesitated half a second, almost looking back over his shoulder to the Eikon Slayer, but apparently thought the better of it, and left him alone with Asahi.

After watching him go, Riol looked back to the Tribunus, brow furrowed, and tried to keep the concern from his voice as he tried to confirm, “The Emperor has agreed to this change of plans?” For all that he had seen, the previous plan to invade Ala Mhigo had been a surprise to Zenos, and, by the Prince’s reaction those orders, he felt he had little choice but to follow them. 

Asahi shrugged and gave him a small, cruel smile. “I assume so. That is how our Empire works, Duplicarius. It is not typically our place to question, only to follow.” 

Something was wrong. The Tribunus had to be lying. Zenos had found a way to win at his father’s game, so why change the rules now? Besides, he had said his goodbyes in his own way the previous night, finishing with a demand as Riol left his quarters that he did not want to see his face again until they crossed blades in Ala Mhigo. The Prince would not put himself through such a display of weakness only to turn around and make it unnecessary.

Moreover, if Zenos could have changed his father’s orders like this, then why had he not done so from the start?

Asahi kept Riol skewered with his dark gaze. “I am surprised that Lord Zenos did not alert you first regarding this change of plans. I imagined you would be overjoyed that you would be able to remain here at his side in the Capital, at least for the time being.

“Or,” he pressed, the edge of wickedness returning to his smile. “Were you eager to see Eorzea again? Eager to invade your homeland?”

Riol bit back his initial reply, not wanting to take Asahi’s bait this time. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, attempting to keep his rising panic under control, then asked, “Where is Lord Zenos now? I suppose if my presence is no longer required here, then I should return to his side, as you say, as quickly as I can.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you know someone too well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took longer; I spent a while picking at it. Definitely spoilers for 4.3+
> 
> Heads-up for what is essentially a rape metaphor

Riol sat heavily on his bed to stare at the crate that contained his belonging, packed and ready to depart. This was the third time in the last ten minutes he had sat like this, and sure enough, hardly a minute later, the Duskwight rose to his feet again to pace around the room once more. 

Zenos was unavailable to speak to him, which was hardly unusual in itself, but Riol was so anxious to talk to him and it vexed him that he could not sooner. For the last hour or so, he waited in his guest quarters in the palace, wondering whether Zenos would come to him, or if he would need to bother the guards again. And wondering how long he should wait. The Eikon Slayer desperately wanted to see with Zenos before the Alcyoneus departed without him; ending up in Doma instead of Gyr Abania was hardly an inconvenience compared to that of being trapped in the heart of Garlemald. He had to know what was going on, what had possessed Zenos to make this sudden change to all the plans that he himself had wrought.

The thought tried to settle on his shoulders that perhaps Zenos had been lying to him this whole time; the dragoon made another circuit of the room, as though hoping to escape it. Riol was still reluctant to believe that the Garlean would have shown him such vulnerability if it were anything but sincere, but … if it brought him the strategic advantage of capturing the Warrior of Light for the Empire, he could be willing to go to such lengths. Yet if the Prince’s aim had been to remove the Warrior of Light from the Alliance, would not the Zenos that Riol knew - or thought he knew - be far more interested in killing him in battle, rather than entrapping him through political manipulation.

The Elezen stalked back to the crate in the center of the room and kicked it, his booted foot leaving a small dent in the metal. At the same time, Zenos was a consummate tactician, and he commanded a terrifying loyalty in his highest officers: Fordola had killed her own kin at her Legatus’ command; and from what he had seen thus far of Asahi, the young man’s ardor bordered on obsession. Had the Garlean Prince simply been manipulating him, as well, perhaps grooming the Warrior of Light to take the place of one of his defeated commanders?

If this had all been a ploy for his affections, Riol was loathe to admit having fallen for it. If it had been a ploy, perhaps he was better off dying here than dragging that shame back to Eorzea and the Scions. He aimed another kick at the box that held his belongings, closer to the corner, so it spun slightly on the floor. Inside, his old Ishgardian armor clanked quiety. Yet if he had been correct to trust in Zenos’ sincerity all these last few weeks, then perhaps it meant something more was wrong with this whole situation.  

The twisted feeling in his gut wanted him to believe that it was the latter, but the Eikon Slayer was not sure what he could trust now.

When Zenos came through his door - unannounced and uninvited - Riol was thoroughly roiled and angry, and stood to stride back across the room to meet him immediately. As the door to the guest room shut behind him, Zenos reached out with one hand towards Riol’s face carefully with gauntleted fingertips, but quickly pulled back as the other man’s features twisted with anger.

“Why the change of plans?” the Elezen demanded, fending off his touch. “And more importantly, why not sooner?”

A look of mild surprise with a touch of concern crossed Zenos’ blue eyes. “I thought you would relish the opportunity to remain here,” he replied. He stepped further into the room when Riol allowed it, and gestured to where the man’s lance sat propped against his box of belongings. “The medica have nearly repaired all of the wounds you last inflicted upon me, so that we could duel again as soon as tomorrow. Perhaps even in the Emperor’s sight! To show him what a fine warrior I’ve brought into Garlemald’s ranks.”

“No,” Riol replied, a crease forming in his brow as he started to circle the other man. “I thought I didn’t belong here. I thought we both agreed on it.”

“I changed my mind.” Zenos turned slowly to follow the dragoon, a strange smile on his lips. 

“And went over the Emperor’s head?”

“I changed his mind, as well. And I could change yours, but you have no choice either way.” The Garlean reached out suddenly to grab his friend by the armor at his shoulder and dragged him forward, until their breastplates met with a soft sound. Riol put his gauntleted hands up between them, not quite shoving Zenos back yet, but preparing to. 

Riol shook his head. “If it was this easy, why all the trouble of the last few days?” Zenos still appeared unconcerned, in a way that severely rubbed the Elezen the wrong way. He at least wanted to see the Prince as angry as he was… maybe for the reassurance that the tender spots he knew should chafe had been true, at the very least.

“You all but showed me _tears_ last night, Prince,” Riol hissed. “You know it would hurt to send me back, but since when are you afraid of pain? Is that a weakness you’ve always had that only I’m meant to know? Or have I made you that vulnerable with my mere presence?”

Zenos’ smile faltered, his nose wrinkling slightly. He did not appear provoked. “Are you not happy that I have found a way to avoid sending you into your homeland as an invader?” Something in the timbre of his voice was different, and Riol felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand on end.

“Too good a friend makes too poor an enemy,” the dragoon countered, starting to push the blond man away. “I don’t please you in combat now that we’re both afraid to kill each other.”

Zenos again reached for his friend’s face, grasping his jaw almost painfully, and bared his teeth in a grin. “Feeling jilted, are we?” Even his laugh sounded different. “So what if you know me? Who else in the Empire cares? You have seen my heart, but no one in Garlemald even believes I have one. No one in Eorzea. No one on this blighted planet.”

Riol grunted and struggled slightly, grasping the Prince’s wrist and trying to slip from his grasp. “You showed me those gaps in your armor, that shameful display of emotion, and then you finally manipulate the situation at a moment’s notice, like you could have all along,” he insisted. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why did you do this?”

The fingers of the blond Garlean’s other hand curled under the edge of Riol’s breastplate, bringing him closer. “I wanted to see what the two of you would do first, given the prior circumstances.”

“Maxima and I?” Weeks of cultivating this relationship, this friendship, simply to get at a political rival? “You don’t play politics like this.”

“No, you’re right,” the Prince replied. “I was referring to you and Zenos.” With sudden strength, he turned and threw the Elezen back into one of the room’s smaller chairs. Riol managed to half-catch himself, but still stumbled into the furniture with a clatter and fell to sit haphazardly on the seat. In an instant, Zenos was over him, one foot between the lancer’s legs against the edge of the chair and one hand on his shoulder. 

“Zenos could not have done me a finer favor, to bring you here, to me,” he continued, starting to tip the chair back onto its back legs. “To place you, the Warrior of Light, at the head of an invasion force back into Eorzea, delicious as the irony would have been, would have created a fine mess. It is far more convenient to keep you close at hand.”

Riol hesitated a moment, mouth agape, as an electric feeling of fear lanced into his stomach. Then he kicked out at Zenos’ knee. The other man - whoever he was - hissed between his teeth in pain. But then he looked back into Riol’s eyes, a piercing stare, and shoved the chair over backwards, sending the dragoon sprawling roughly onto his back on the floor.

“No, I dare say you have grown too skilled at your job,  _ Eikon Slayer _ ,” he continued, leaning on the title with subtle derision, as Riol blinked and attempted to regain his wits. “An eikon in Gyr Abania, soon to be another in Doma, both will serve to restore some balance to this world. With you here on a leash, it will be far easier to mediate the darkness and the light on this star.”

“Ascian?” the Elezen growled. “What would the Empire say to one of you puppeting their Crown Prince?” He started to pick himself up, but Zenos planted an armored foot firmly on his chest to pin him down. As Riol moved his arms to try to fend him away again, the Garlean drew his sword with a clear ring of steel, and he froze.

“Who of them would notice?” he teased, the unmistakable profane red glyph of one of the Bringers of Chaos manifesting in front of the Garlean’s fine features. “Who of them would care?”

Riol began to struggle again, and the Ascian lowered the tip of the blade to his lips, pressing the sharpened edge of the katana to one of the recent raw cuts. “I dare say His Radiance may appreciate having you here to tame his son, as well,” he added as an afterthought with a small laugh. His words had definitely changed now, dripping darkness and now twisted such that he knew only Riol’s Echo permitted him to understand them.

“No, there is little difficulty in learning this part well enough to play it adequately.” The Ascian started to slice into the corner of the dragoon’s mouth, slowly and carefully, until Riol’s lips parted and he thrust the point of the blade in further, between his teeth, to ensure the Warrior of Light would hold still. “If I do not satisfy you as he did, to whom in the Empire would you go? No one has ever seen what shreds of fervent happiness his barren heart can hold. He has never permitted anyone to see the dark depths of his loneliness. No, all I need to show is what the world is used to seeing. And who is better suited to wearing a facade than an Emissary?”

The dragoon tried not to struggle as he felt hot blood trickling to the back of his throat; his tongue was trapped beneath the flat of the sword blade in his mouth, and he dare not move for risk of the weapon cutting more deeply. Still, his gaze burned with furious frustration. What Lahabrea had done with Thancred returned as a raw memory; now, this… Emissary -- Elidibus, that was his name -- had made sure that Riol was quite alone within the heart of Garlemald.

“You will cooperate with me, Warrior of Light, and aid me in restoring balance on this world.” the Ascian continued, stolen eyes cold behind the glowing mark that obscured his face. “As I see it, you have little choice.” Riol struggled not to gag as he felt the point of the sword dangerously close to the back of his throat now. The cloying shadows fell away from the blond man’s voice then, and the red hovering mark vanished. He sounded once more like Zenos, or as much like Zenos as any other Imperial would be able to recognize.

“My father has placed you under my direct orders, Eikon Slayer.” He leaned his weight down on Riol’s chest, bending forward to peer down almost fondly into the Elezen’s steel-grey eyes, which were now watering slightly. “Full glad am I that he is allowing us to continue to work together so closely. I do hope you feel the same way.”

Finally, he stepped back, and withdrew the blade. Riol immediately sat up, gagging and putting a hand to his mouth where Elidibus had carelessly cut him. “I am disappointed, though, Warrior of Light.” The Garlean - and the Ascian that now inhabited him - turned his back and sheathed the katana. “I would have thought you glad, or at least relieved, to see a more level-headed, far-sighted man at the right hand of the Garlean Emperor, instead of, as you said, a ‘selfish monster’.”

He started to glance over his shoulder, finally adding as an afterthought, “I only hope you will grow to be as good a friend to me as you were to the bloodthirsty prince. Or at least learn to play the part. For the sake of this world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edit 10/23] Ending here wasn't the greatest idea, I admit. There shall be more, and I will do a better job wrapping it up. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. Definitely don't want to end with disappointment for you all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemy of my enemy might be my friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, let's do more!
> 
> Spoilers for 4.4

Elidibus showed Riol none of Zenos’ restraint with the strength of the body he possessed, and took care to break both of the Elezen man’s legs after stripping him of his armor. The assurance that it was only to prevent his escape, that he would be healed in the morning once the Alcyoneus had departed came as little comfort; the Ascian left him cuffed to a chair in his uniform with a chronometer deliberately close at hand so that Riol could follow the time in the windowless room. The pain dragged him in and out of consciousness as the evening hours gradually crawled into night, but it was a poor substitute for real rest. The room was oppressively quiet once he was alone, save for the occasional sound of the palace’s internal air circulation system switching on and off, and the ambient distant rumble of machinery that seemed seemed to pervade every Garlean facility.

The sound of the door opening behind him at some ungodsly-early hour of the night roughly jerked the dragoon back to consciousness, and he immediately tensed for fear of who might be coming at such a such a late time to see him. And what they planned to do. Fists clenching and tugging slightly at the metal cuffs that kept his wrists chained to the legs of the chair, Riol twisted to try to glance at who the visitor was. The slow, deliberate steps sounded like Zenos again, but also did not make quite the same sound as he was accustomed to hearing from the Crown Prince’s armor.

Riol was not sure whether it frightened him more or less when the Garlean Emperor himself entered his field of view. Varis zos Galvus had a formidable presence even without his elaborate crown and mantle of his office. He paused, eyeing the Eikon Slayer with a certain wariness behind the frown that appeared to be engraved on his features; Riol watched him like a hawk in return, still not knowing what to make of this sudden visit at all. Then the Garlean moved again, to hold a finger to his lips for silence, then turned away to walk to the box that still held Riol’s armor and sat in the center of the floor.

Head still swimming from agony and exhaustion, the Duskwight made no effort to defy the unspoken order and slumped back in his chair. There was little he could do anyway - even if, through some sudden miracle, he were somehow able to attack the Emperor, the other Garlean soldiers would undoubtedly fall upon him like dogs, eager to tear apart the traitorous Warrior of Light.

Still silent, the Garlean opened the locking mechanisms on the crate, and kicked it over, spilling the steel-and-blue pieces of Ishgardian armor across the floor. The noise was not terribly loud, but in the overbearing quiet of the room, it was distinctly uncomfortable to Riol’s ears. Varis glanced back over his shoulder at the effectively imprisoned dragoon, half-opening his mouth to say something, but stopped without uttering a word before returning his attention to the crate. He set it upright again, leaned in to remove a final greave from the bottom of it, and then turned to face the Eikon Slayer fully.

Then he drew his gunblade.

Riol tensed instinctively, steel eyes widening in fear, and he started to squirm on his chair until his legs acutely reminded him that he was not going anywhere.

The Emperor cocked the weapon and leveled it at the helpless Elezen, features unchanging.

Was this going to be his martyrdom? Shot like a lamed chocobo by the ruler of Garlemald? Zenos had been right: he _was_ afraid of dying here, in the heart of enemy territory. The thought crossed his mind to give a silent prayer to the Fury for his soul... but then it was also likely several weeks too late to be worth even asking. At least there might be some twisted honor in dying by the Emperor’s hand, and not that of Elidibus.

“Your son is possessed by an Ascian,” Riol hissed in earnest, keeping his voice low but still feeling the need to break the silence in a last desperate attempt to set _something_ right.

“... I know,” came Varis’ reply. And then he pulled the trigger.

Riol shut his eyes as the shot rang out.

However to his surprise, he felt only a sting of shrapnel at his wrist. Varis had shot the cuff holding his right hand, shattering the metal precisely to free him.

The Elezen still tensed again as the Emperor cocked the gunblade for another shot, still cringed at the weapon's loud report. Varis' aim was true, at least, and his target was the restraint for Riol's other hand. As soon as both hands were free, the Eikon Slayer stretched out his shoulders before rubbing at the shallow cuts the metal shards had left in the skin of his wrists.

The Garlean put the weapon away as he moved close then, and Riol shied away even though he could hardly go far. Without saying another word, Varis picked him up; if the dragoon had to guess, he was at least attempting to be careful, but he still blacked out momentarily as the Emperor’s grip sent new waves of pain through his broken legs. His vision only cleared after he had been placed somewhat indelicately inside the crate that had previously held his armor.

“What are you doing?” he asked blearily, and sucked air between his teeth at the intense ache as he tried with little success to get comfortable in the cramped space.

“Getting rid of you. Your arrival here was, as always, inopportune, yet this way you at least can still serve me some purpose.”

Riol could only guess what the man was thinking behind his perpetual frown. Varis studied the crumpled Warrior of Light a moment longer before he let the lid of the box down and refastened the locks.

In the uncomfortable darkness, the Elezen heard the door open again, followed by the more distant sound of the Garlean Emperor’s voice to the guards posted outside:

“See that the remains of the Warrior of Light are conveyed to Doma with the rest of the delegation. As a personal apology to the Eorzean Alliance on behalf of the Emperor.”

A clatter of footsteps on the metal floor approached, and Riol sank into unconsciousness as he felt soldiers begin to move his newest prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imperator ex machina?
> 
> Also pretty sure Varis' face is stuck in that frown.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It might be easier to close your eyes and ignore what's happening, but you probably also can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluhh my research project is coming up on a big demonstration at the end of the month, but I can still make some time to chip away at writing for fun.
> 
> Also I'm sort of just running off with my own speculation on what Maxima's character is like at this point.

“Oh!” Maxima exclaimed, jumping back slightly as he opened the storage crate. “I dare say you look a good deal… fresher than I was expecting,” The Warrior of Light, not merely his corpse, stirred with a gasp and raised an arm to shield his eyes from the sudden light. The Elezen was still hardly a picture of health, though, the Garlean quickly realized: his pale blue eyes were unfocused and his skin looked more ashen than usual. He seemed not to fully register Maxima’s presence beside him, and messy strands of his white hair stuck with sweat to his forehead.

Frowning with concern and taking a deep breath, Maxima started tipping the box onto its side as carefully as he could to help the delirious Elezen out of the small, stuffy space.

“Who--?,” Riol breathed as the Garlean extracted him. “Where am I?”

“You are in my quarters on the Alcyoneus,” Maxima replied gently, brows furrowed as he wondered how much of this would get through to the other man. “You are coming with us to Doma. Just hold still a moment, alright?” He moved to put an arm beneath his bent knees to help him the rest of the way out, and was halfway to being thankful that the Duskwight was aware enough not to try to fight him when Riol instead screamed out in pain. The Pilus winced at the noise so close to his ears and nearly dropped him. The other man’s legs were most definitely injured, he saw a moment later, more severely than simple cramping from being stuffed into the storage crate would have inflicted. Maxima grit his teeth and tried to stretch the Warrior of Light out onto his back on the thin carpet over the metal floor, earning several more ragged cries before the white-haired man seemed to pass out.

After that, a quick assessment told Maxima that the Elezen was beyond his ability to assist with his basic field medical training. His legs had been broken, and badly, likely hours before; the Garlean was reasonably certain that his state of confusion was more from the pain of it than from blood loss, but he still immediately moved to a communication console to summon a chirurgeon and a medicus to his quarters. 

The orders from His Radiance himself had been concerning enough, and now that he knew the Warrior of Light was alive, too, Maxima was even less comfortable with whatever intrigue he had been thrust into. Lord Varis had even taken care to mention in the written missive that these orders were for Maxima himself, and that his Tribunus had not been informed. And this was on top of the abrupt change in destination for the Alcyoneus’ mission in the first place, apparently at Lord Zenos’ word. The Pilus was concerned that all of this pointed to some sort of schism between Lord Varis and his son, deeper now than the chilly relationship that already existed between them.

The succession crisis that had placed Lord Varis on the throne in the first place was still far too raw a memory to Garlemald; during that time, Maxima had made clear his own thoughts regarding the continuation of Garlean conquest. Even now, he remained an outspoken opponent of continued aggressive expansionism; it was no secret to the Emperor that he was a leading voice for the Populares. So why, then, had the Emperor decided to place the man who would be Imperial Eikon Slayer into  _ his _ hands, with the command to return him to the Domans? And was the Eikon Slayer, or Warrior of Light, whatever he was now, meant to arrive at their destination alive, or had the Emperor  _ intended _ for him to die on the way? Whatever his feelings on current Imperial policy, he also dearly hoped this did not presage a new spiral into chaos for the Empire he still served with all of his heart.

He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes with a palm before glancing down Riol again, noting with some relief that he was beginning to come to again. The unique sight granted by Maxima’s Garlean birth saw the dragoon’s supine form in sharp resolution, as compared to the blurred shape in his mundane myopic eyes; it was an amusing reversal, in a way, as it was the Pilus’ Imperial ties that left him uncertain if he could trust Riol’s presence, while he as a living, breathing man saw simply another man in need of his help. But then his light-vision was the one sense that he required lenses to correct…. 

When the healers arrived, the Pilus moved to assist them, offering his strength and an extra pair of hands to try to keep the Riol still and reasonably quiet while they did their work. The Warrior of Light retained surprising vigor even in his injured state, and the chirurgeon was thankful for Maxima’s aid; the dark-haired Garlean had to stuff a gag into Riol’s mouth and pin his arms while his broken legs were set. After that, the medica’s healing was easier as it (thankfully) drained the Elezen of his last reserves of energy. 

After nursing a light bruise Riol had left on his jaw in his struggling, Maxima helped his two healers move him from the floor to the room’s bed to rest. The subordinates lingered after that with unasked questions written on their features until Maxima conceded with a sigh, “I am not sure I understand yet, either.” Then he ordered them to keep confidence and dismissed them. With luck, no passers-by had heard the Warrior of Light’s earlier shouts of pain, but at the very least, the Duskwight would not expire in Maxima’s bedroom.

Removing his glasses again to set them on the side table, the Pilus settled into the room’s small armchair and leaned on his elbow on the armrest. Riol twitched periodically in his sleep but seemed to be resting easier for now. With luck, he would awaken before the Alcyoneus arrived in Doma and could provide some answers; in the meanwhile, the Garlean reminded himself that there was little use in stoking his own anxieties before he could speak to Riol. He let his lidded eyes slide closed so he could attempt at least a bit of rest, himself. If the Warrior of Light made any motions, his third eye would sense it to wake him up, and then perhaps he and Maxima could work together to untangle whatever it was that seemed to be going on between the two of them, the Emperor, and the Crown Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxima is like, "I do NOT get paid enough for this."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemies of my enemies might not even be working together, but who really knows.

Riol awoke suddenly, and sat up quickly enough in bed to make himself a bit light-headed. He found himself in another room of Imperial construction - on an airship, if he had to guess, judging by the size of the space and the ambient noise. His uniform had been removed now, as well, and he was wrapped in a bathrobe or something that fit a bit too tightly in the shoulders. He was not alone, either: Maxima sat across the small room, resting on one elbow with his cheek on his palm. As the Garlean raised his head, seeming to blink away sleep, his hand left a red mark where his face had rested against it, as though he had been sitting like that for a decent while.

“Is this... the Alcyoneus?” the dragoon asked slowly, and rubbed his eyes. The pain in his body crashed into him like a wave again, from his legs up, and he grunted as an afterthought, “Or is this some Hell?”

“The former,” Maxima assured him. The Garlean retrieved his glasses and put them on again, tilting his head slightly as he tried to assess the Elezen’s condition from across the room. “How do you feel?”

Riol took a long moment to think on his answer, during which time he experimentally shifted one leg, then the other, and finally pulled his legs closer so he could sit cross-legged. He went with a somewhat unconvincing, “Better,” before finally venturing to lift the blankets enough to actually look at his lower limbs. They were definitely no longer broken, but the ache remained intense, and his skin was still far too dark and swollen with bruises.

The Pilus sat forward, steepling his fingers. “Are you hungry? Or is there aught else I can get you?”

The Elezen man was silent for another stretch, peering back at Maxima. At last he asked, “Am I being interrogated?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Maxima replied, suddenly becoming animated and rising to his feet. “I do have questions, but I have no intent to force answers from you, nor to withhold food or drink.” He moved to his communication console, fingers poised over the buttons, and glanced back to Riol, eyebrows raised.

“Water, please,” Riol requested. “And … I don’t know, something bland to eat. Bread or … soup or something.” He felt truly empty - not just hungry, but completely hollowed out in body and spirit. He had been healed again, too much at once, and although the dragoon was fairly certain he was in one piece now, he was not sure if he would be able to get out of the bed without another stretch of sleep. Not to mention the last day had felt like a week, for all that had happened.

Maxima ordered the meal brought to his quarters, and received it in his doorway when it arrived without admitting the deliverer into the room. After delivering it to Riol - dull soup in a dull bowl, on a dull tray with a dull cup and pitcher of water - the Garlean promised to return in half a bell, and suggested his guest get dressed again if he could manage it. 

The time seemed to pass at a snail’s pace as Riol took some time to eat. The thin vegetable broth with meat soon began to provide him with a bit of renewed physical vigor, but his mood remained as dull as the soup. He was en route to Doma, at least - assuming their destination had not been changed yet again. The dragoon was disinclined to believe much of anything at present.

After finishing around half of his meal and the entire pitcher of water, the Elezen climbed out of bed as carefully as he could manage. His legs could bear his weight again, thank the Fury, but it still ached to walk. Moving slowly, he made use of the Pilus’ tiny personal restroom, then pulled on the fresh uniform that had been left for him. The swelling in his lower limbs had subsided somewhat with the bones beneath mended, but the pants still fit more closely than they should have.

Riol was seated in the room’s chair carefully lacing his boots, when Maxima returned. Even though it was his own room, the Garlean knocked first before letting himself in. 

“We are well on our way to Doma, where I expect we will be able to find some way to deliver you back to your Alliance friends,” Maxima said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed since Riol now occupied his chair. “I was hoping you might be able to answer some questions for me while we fly, though. Namely about what, exactly, is going on, if you know.”

The Elezen sat up and studied Maxima’s face. He realized he wanted to be able to trust the Pilus. Or at least to trust someone. At the same time, though, he had already made it further into this whole situation than he had ever expected while still alive.

Although Riol had not exactly killed Zenos along the way, either.

“I can’t promise to know the whole answer, but I doubt you will like what pieces I do know.”

Maxima spread his hands and shrugged, a slight wry smile on his lips. “I found a crate labeled as a coffin in my quarters first thing this morning, with a charge from His Radiance himself to deliver the remains within to Doma.”

“Just don’t ask, ‘how could my day get any worse?’” Riol cautioned.

The Pilus laughed slightly. “No, I know well enough to leave that unasked, lest an eikon appear from thin air, or some such.” Then he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, and knit his fingers together. “Are you at least willing to indulge me in the tale of how you ended up inside that box?”

Riol glanced away, wondering briefly whether the truth would bring him more worry or more mirth. Then he looked back to the Garlean and shrugged, telling him matter-of-factly, “His Radiance the Emperor stuffed me inside it in the middle of the night last night.”

Maxima barked out a laugh, then raised a hand to his lips as though to apologize for the sudden sound. He watched the white-haired Elezen for a long moment, like he might be waiting for Riol to recant, before he shook his head. “You do not strike me as that poor a liar, but I dare say I find it hard to believe.” Again, he folded his hands, then pressed, “Why would Lord Varis do such a thing?”

Whatever political machinations went on in Garlemald in the Palace, whatever being a leader of an anti-expansionist group within the Empire meant, Riol could not begin to guess. The dragoon imagined Maxima’s concern was born of a desire to avoid getting entangled in deeper political turmoil, but all of that was Alphinaud’s forte, not his own. However, he did know all he needed to about Ascians, and Riol considered with care what to reveal to Maxima now.

… Gods, would it not be an absolutely sick joke if Maxima also housed an Ascian? 

Either way, revealing the whole truth would be dangerous, to one of them or to the other; Riol finally settled for telling the Garlean, “His Radiance thought it necessary to drive me away from his son. And with the circumstances of the sudden diversion of our mission from Ala Mhigo to Doma, I realized I need to return to the Alliance, as well.”

“Your reasons--”

“Are my own,” Riol returned, a bit more frostily than he had intended. Maxima glanced away, then raised a hand to fix his glasses. The dragoon took a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing, “There are … things at work here that you are best not knowing about, so I will only say that you should be wary of the Crown Prince.”

Brows furrowing, the Pilus frowned at the floor for a long moment. “That is … ominous, coming from you.” Looking up again, he then inquired, “And the Emperor?”

Riol now looked to the floor. “I don’t know his intentions, but I have reason to believe someone may be manipulating him.”

Maxima did not move, but the air grew tense. “I see,” he said at last. “For Lord Zenos to so suddenly lose your trust, or your... affection?” The Garlean articulated the last word with a cautious glance at Riol. “That concerns me enough, whether or not I want to believe some conspiracy in the Imperial family. I know there is little love between Lord Zenos and his father, but….” Frown deepening, he trailed off.

Was it really affection Riol had felt for Zenos, he wondered, stomach twisting a bit. There had been impassioned anger, certainly, and some measure of pity, but something else between them, as well. ‘Affection’ seemed too soft a word, and not simply because the two of them felt at their closest when spilling each others’ blood. Perhaps there was no word for that intimacy of violence in which they had both willingly engaged.

Now, knowing that an Ascian possessed the Garlean Crown Prince, Riol seethed with anger on his behalf. He was furious at the Ascians in general for meddling in his life and in Eorzea yet again, and furious at Elidibus in particular for stealing his friend’s independence, his finely-honed mastery over his physical body. If Zenos even knew that the Ascian was there, he would not take well to the loss of control.

Not to mention, the dragoon ached for that promised final fight to the death between them, between  _ just them _ . Finally, he had thought he would have the chance to duel for its own sake, to kill Zenos for himself and not for anyone else… and then the Ascian had turned his friend and dearest enemy to little more than a puppet. Inevitably, Riol would be forced to be the damned Warrior of Light once again. 

Or maybe Zenos was right: he did need someone at his back to protect in order to fight at his best. 

“How do you feel now?” Maxima asked quietly, practically startling Riol out of his thoughts. “The meal helped, I hope?”

“Yeah,” the Elezen man responded tepidly with a shrug. Maxima seemed to accept this answer, and nodded, rising to his feet.

“Can you walk? Would you like to stretch your legs a little?”

“Yeah,” Riol half-mumbled again. “I guess.” He sighed deeply, then finally allowed his gaze to focus back on the present and on the interior of the small room. Carefully rising to his feet, the dragoon glanced to Maxima again, and moved to the chamber door at the man’s gesture.

The Pilus opened the door and allowed Riol out first. The white-haired man stepped past the pair of guards outside and into the hall, and glanced back to see that Maxima was still following. Then they both started slowly down the corridor, with the Garlean leaving his charge to set the pace.

It occurred to Riol too late that there should be no need for guards outside of an officer’s quarters on an airship in flight, unless there was need to keep someone either in or out. Too late, the dragoon struggled as the two Imperial soldiers roughly grabbed his wrists and handcuffed them together behind his back. The Elezen hissed between his teeth and attempted to shove one of them into the wall, but could not muster enough force to make any real difference. It still hurt to move, and had precious little energy to put up a fight.

“Oh, Fury’s fucking tits,” the Riol grumbled, shooting Maxima an absolutely venomous glare even though he had stopped struggling. He had long exceeded his expectations of survival in Garlemald, and now the stress being toyed with again and again had him nearly at his wits’ end. “Can you at least just throw me overboard this time? Or something quick and final?”

Arching a brow, Maxima otherwise wore what was an impeccable poker face. “No. I simply thought it would be impossible to keep you hidden here for long, so I am taking you to the Tribunus directly. Then we can see about getting you quarters of your own until we reach Doma.”

“Quarters? Going to stuff me into another box?” Riol growled in frustration, holding the Pilus’ gaze and just barely biting back a curse. One of the soldiers who had helped to restrain him then gagged him, tying the cloth tightly in his mouth before the two Imperials let go of him abruptly. Riol heard their footsteps retreating down the hall behind him as he was left alone with Maxima. 

“A more comfortable place to hide this time,” the Pilus replied. He moved to stand just behind his new prisoner and prodded him gently in the shoulder with one finger as an infuriatingly gentle request to start walking. “Take your time if you need it, and please try to cooperate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else going to be at FanFest? o u o


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now you can hide in plain sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slower sort of intermediate chapter, so I thought why not write a bit of Asahi?
> 
> I love him. What a wretchedly awful human.

Asahi lingered on the bridge of the Alcyoneus, though everything was running smoothly and his crew was well aware of their flight plan to Doma. The flickering consoles were the closest he would get to a admiring the scenery from on board the battleship: while the bridge and gunnery stations had narrow slits for seeing out, windows merely for the view were too much of a structural weakness, and so had been omitted from the vessel’s design. They were still a few days off from their destination, but the Tribunus was a bit disappointed he would not have a clear view of his birthplace when they finally approached. It had been a while since he had last seen it. And, with luck, he could tell his dear sister how the country looked from on high.

Then the main door opened behind him, bringing him back to the present, and the black-haired man turned around, hands clasped behind his back, to see who the visitor was. And felt his mood sour near instantly as the Eikon Slayer stepped through the doorway. He looked deeply tired and worn out, as though the anger that burned in his savage eyes were the only thing keeping him on his feet. Still, Riol’s hands had been restrained, and Maxima followed him closely, holding him by the chain that held his wrists together. 

“We found him inside one of the cargo containers, sir,” Maxima reported as the door cranked shut behind him.

One of the bridge crew seated nearby half rose to her feet, a hand straying to her weapon, and Asahi absently stayed her with a gesture. “No, he’s one of ours,” he half-murmured. If anyone on board was going to punish the Warrior of Light for contravening his orders, Asahi would guarantee that the  _ pleasure  _ was his own.

“Disobeying Lord Zenos and stowing away, are we?” he then pressed the Duskwight, stepping closer and looking up to meet his gaze.

Riol’s features were tense with restrained frustration as he replied, “I was brought here against my will.” He glanced briefly back over his shoulder towards Maxima, then added, “The Pilus can tell you that I required healing when he found me.”

“Whoever put him here hurt him badly,” Maxima affirmed. “We healed as much at once as we dared so that he could walk, but … I still thought it prudent to bring him to you straight away.”

The Tribunus turned on his heel to look away, one hand to his chin as he took a moment to think. This certainly complicated things. In spite of how much it angered him how the Elezen had so quickly monopolized Lord Zenos’ attentions, it would also not reflect well on Asahi if the Crown Prince’s new favorite plaything were damaged on his watch.

When he turned back to face Maxima and the Eikon Slayer again, he noted that their presence had attracted the attention of the nearby soldiers, as they attempted to appear busy.

“No, that was fine thinking,” he told Maxima. “Best that we all know he is here. The Imperial Eikon Slayer himself!” He raised his voice, deciding to address the full contingent of crew present on the bridge. “Perhaps we are all the safer for his presence here, should the Domans elect to bite the hand we extend in friendship.” 

Oh, how satisfying it would be to order the Warrior of Light to fight his own people, if events did indeed play out that way.

The way the soot-colored Elezen peered at him with those steel eyes made it difficult for Asahi to refrain from spitting in his face, but he kept his composure, and the earnest tone in his voice. “See to it that he is given a place in our duty roster and in our soldiers’ quarters, Maxima. We have no expected need for a living, breathing weapon on this mission of peace, but since he is here regardless, we can put his other talents to good use.”

The Tribunus looked back to Riol, his smile pleasant on his lips and vicious in his eyes. “If you recall aught else from you ordeal arriving here, Duplicarius, please, let us know, so we can mete proper justice to whomever it was who wanted to make you look a deserter.” If Asahi could find whomever the culprit was, assuming they were still on board the Alcyoneus with him, it would no doubt please Lord Zenos to bring the one who had injured his precious Eikon Slayer to justice. … Yet on the other hand, the Doman Tribunus was also deeply curious to know who else apparently wanted to separate the Eorzean from Garlemald’s Prince.

Once the Pilus had freed his wrists from the handcuffs, Riol rubbed his wrists momentarily before saluting his superiors. “I’ll gladly help however I can, sir.” He even sounded fatigued, the vitriol from their first meeting gone from his voice; Asahi only hoped that this meant the man had accepted his place.

The last thing he wanted was for this mission to go awry; what Lord Zenos had charged him to do in Doma was far too important. And if the Eorzean savage in Imperial clothes did jeopardize the assignment, Asahi was not certain that he would be able to stop himself from killing him. Riol hardly had a reputation among the Imperials for minding his own business.

A concerning thought struck the Tribunus then, and, just as Maxima started to turn to leave with Riol, Asahi suddenly asked of his Pilus, “Oh, in which storage room did you find our Eikon Slayer?” As few people as possible were to know about the actual contents of the freight for Doma, and he hoped that Maxima had been smart enough not to go rummaging around in the cargo areas. “It … would reflect poorly on our delegation, if our shipment of aid fell even one crate short of the promised amount.”

Maxima, for his part, wore a stoic, serious expression as he always did as he turned back, but quirked a brow as he responded first with a quiet, “Hmm?”

It would undoubtedly be in Maxima’s best interests for this mission to succeed. Or what he believed this mission to be. If he knew the true nature of what had been ordered of Asahi, or if he had stumbled upon the godly supply of aether crystals in the Alcyoneus’ cargo hold, that, too, would endanger the true operation.

“Oh, he had been stuffed rather uncomfortably into one of the supply boxes for the cohorts, sir,” the Garlean then responded. “I believe the only thing we are lacking is a crate of spare tools.”

The black-haired man knew that his subordinate’s opposition to Imperial expansionism had played a role in his selection for this peaceful mission; he also assumed that it had prevented Maxima from achieving a higher rank at his age. Yet in spite of the man’s disagreements with the Empire’s overall policy, Asahi could think of no reason why the Garlean would try to hide it if he had discovered anything suspect about the supplies bound for Doma.

“Oh, good. We should be able to carry on without those, at least.” Inwardly, Asahi sighed as he dismissed the Pilus and the Eikon Slayer. He made a mental note that would have to make sure that Maxima kept the Elezen as busy as possible, to afford him no chances to go nosing about in the cargo.

Damn it, if only Asahi had had the chance to remove Riol before anyone else knew he was aboard, his task would have remained simple and straightforward. If he had been the one to find him in whatever corner of the cargo areas he had been stored in, the Tribunus would have killed him without hesitation, blasted his brains across the bulkheads, or stabbed him with his blade to watch him bleed out…. It would have been little trouble to dispose of the body in one of the ship’s ceruleum furnaces, or to toss it overboard, and just like that remove the one person who stood between himself and Lord Zenos, and without a trace of evidence tying the deed back to himself. Now, no small number of the troops were aware of Riol’s presence, and the Tribunus was forced to be responsible for the man, to see to his safe return to Garlemald.

Silently seething as Maxima and Riol departed, Asahi turned back to the rest of the bridge, crossing his arms as he glared back at the glowing console displays. Perhaps, if luck were on his side, the Eorzean would turn traitor while they remained abroad, and afford Asahi the luxury of shooting him without repercussion.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final descent into friendlier territory

“If you move or make a sound, I will cut your throat.”

The cold steel of a knife at Riol’s neck and the distantly familiar voice with it finally awoke him from his mental haze, jerking him rudely back to the present. 

He was in Doma, just outside the walls Castrum Fluminis. It was just after sunset, and fog had rolled in off the water - this was likely how his assailant had managed to sneak up on him. That or the fog in his mind.

“Come with me, quietly, and I might let you live.” A hand grabbed one of the Elezen’s arms, twisted it behind his back, before a thumb pressed down assertively on a tender spot on the side of his elbow. He grunted at the pain but complied, and the long shinobi knife withdrew as they started to walk.

Of course she would not recognize him, garbed as he was in the faceless armor of the Imperial rank-and-file. The same sort of armor he had been wearing the last time he was here, the dragoon recalled with amusement, when they had rescued the conscripts from Numai. He laughed quietly as the shinobi maneuvered him into the rust-eaten wreckage of one of the Garlean airships. 

“You are hardly in a position to laugh,” the shinobi snapped, forcing him to his knees. Riol felt her begin to bind his hands behind his back - Fury he was fucking getting  _ used _ to this - and then she shoved him face down onto the ground before rolling him onto his back.

“Yugiri,” he murmured, confirming that he had correctly recognized her voice now that he could see her at last. His own words sounded slightly distorted and metallic, coming through the Imperial mask that still hid his own face. The Auri shinobi’s own features were half-hidden behind a scarf, but her hair, her horns, and the cold ferocity in her eyes were unmistakable.

“How do you know my name?” she hissed back; if she was surprised, she hid it well. Yugiri also knew precisely where to place her blade to find spaces between the Doman-style Imperial armor, to threaten him again. “I am the one asking the questions here!” she immediately pressed on. “What have your superiors ordered you to do at the Castrum?”

Riol was dead tired of being tied up, hauled around, kicked, threatened…. Not that he had been eager to take too much joy and comfort in being treated as Zenos’ honored guest previously, but the last week or so made him consider needling his friend until she killed him, without knowing who he was.

No, that would be needlessly cruel to Yugiri. Riol liked her, and he could understand her present harshness and caution.

The Au Ra’s off-hand blade struck the side of his helmet at his temple with a distinctly uncomfortable sound. “My patience is short, bestiarius.”

‘Hastatus’, he almost wanted to correct her, but bit back the reply. Instead, he attempted, “Can you take this helmet off, first, please? It makes it a bit hard to breathe like this.” That was a lie - the helm was not as nicely-fitted as the one Zenos had provided, but it was still surprisingly comfortable. Riol only hoped he could get the shinobi to see his face.

She glared down at him for a moment, then conceded, “Fine, but then you give me answers.”

Riol nodded, closing his eyes as he felt Yugiri place a foot on his chest before leaning down over him. She thrust one of her blades down emphatically into the loam right beside his neck to free her hand, then fiddled with the fastenings for a moment to remove the helm.

The dragoon shook his head slightly to get stray strands of hair out of his face while she pulled the mask and helmet off. Then he looked up again at Yugiri leaning over him, and smiled weakly as she met his gaze. The gold-scaled Au Ra promptly paled several shades.

“Riol!?” she gasped, taking her weight off of him as though he had burned her through her boot. Hands shaking, she rolled him face down again, just long enough to employ her blade to cut the bonds she had just tied in order to free him. The Duskwight hardly minded the mouthful of dirt, since it seemed he was, at last, among friends.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and the shinobi sat back, gaping at him. “Y-you still live, after all this time,” Yugiri managed, then reached out one hand for one of his. She looked about to cry, but Riol was not about to slight her by pointing it out. Pulling off his glove, he took her hand, allowing her gauntleted fingers to rest over his larger bare palm.

“I… I guess,” he murmured, not fully sure what to say. Bits of the last several days filtered back to him then as he tried to begin to explain: “Whatever cargo the Alcyoneus has brought, I’ve not had a chance to see any of it. My … orders prevented me from investigating.”

He still felt numb and hollow, even after he had recovered more fully from his broken bones and other injuries, to the point that, in recent days, Asahi had apparently decided it was no longer entertaining to harass him. His centurion had simply employed him elsewhere on board, and worked him too hard to want to do anything but rest in his free time.

Yugiri’s head bobbed up and down in a nod as she continued to stare at him in disbelief. After a moment, she licked her lips and found her voice again to tell him, “Anything you can tell us would be helpful to Lord Hien’s negotiations with the Imperial representatives.” 

She looked down at where her fingers touched his, then withdrew her grasp quickly, seeming to snap back to the moment. “No, here is not the place. We need to get you back to the Enclave. I- I dare not imagine what you must have been through.” Yugiri rose to her feet; when she extended her hand to Riol again, it was to help him stand. “You are not too badly hurt for more of a walk, are you?” Then, a touch sheepishly, she added, “Ah, and hopefully not because of aught I have done?”

“I’ll be alright,” he assured her. The dragoon did not particularly require assistance, but he took her hand anyway, leaning on it a little as he climbed back to his feet. The bruises that covered his legs under his hakama and greaves had turned a truly astonishing array of colors over the last few days of healing, but it hardly hurt for him to walk anymore. Yugiri still set a slower pace as they slunk out of the ruins of Garlean aircraft and back into the fog and the fractured ground outside the Castrum to make their way to friendlier territory.

“Were you meant to be part of the prisoner exchange the delegation spoke of arranging?” the Au Ra asked once they had put more distance between themselves and Castrum Fluminis. “That was a part of the Ambassador’s offer to Doma.”

“No, not as far as I know,” Riol replied, brow furrowing. Had he been a prisoner? Certainly not when he had first arrived in Garlemald. The last several days, by contrast, had felt more like it, but at least he had not been forced to spend them in a cell aboard the Alcyoneus. The lancer forced a small laugh and added, “It would have saved me the trouble of escaping like this, though.” His hair fell across his eyes as he shook his head again. “No, Asahi would not have let me leave, I suspect.”

“Do you trust him?”

The Elezen shook his head. “Beyond his personal vendetta against me, I’m all but certain he has some ulterior motive behind these negotiations.” 

A deep tiredness washed over him, then, as though it had built up over days, or weeks, into a veritable lake and now the dam had broken. Riol stopped walking a moment, put a hand to his eyes, and forced himself to take a deep breath. He felt Yugiri immediately at his arm to help steady him, but at the very least, the heaviness in his head and behind his eyes did not seem to have an effect on his balance.

“We can talk more of this at the Kienkan tomorrow, once you are rested,” the dark-haired woman half-suggested, half-insisted, and Riol nodded. “Alphinaud, Alisaie, and Lord Hien all will be most glad to see you, as well, but I shall do what I can to fend them off until you have had a good night’s sleep.” Yugiri was not often one to smile, but she made the attempt for her friend.

After a stretch of silence, they reached the ruins of the outlying houses from the capital, the once-fine villas now serving as shelter for the collection of Namazu merchants who had moved in. Golden lights from within the buildings filled the area’s fog with light, and a few of the diminutive fish-like creatures paused to watch the Elezen and the Au Ra pass. They remained silent, though, until they lost interest and resumed their business, walking away on their curiously squeaky feet.

Riol could feel Yugiri continue to watch him, though, and he understood her concern. Truth be told, he was more than a little concerned about himself. The dragoon ultimately did not regret his choice to go to Garlemald, but he hoped the others would not judge him too harshly. At the very least, he was certain he would be permitted to report the Ascian interference in Garlemald to Alphinaud and Alisaie; he also doubted anyone would much mind him fighting the eikon Shinryuu, to remove that threat from Gyr Abania.

The threat he had left behind to follow Zenos.

The Elezen’s creaking steps on the wooden planks of the merchant docks roused the evening-shift boatman from a light snooze (Yugiri, of course, managed to walk in silence). After the pair of them were settled into the small skiff, facing each other on the narrow benches, the shinobi seemed to realize her looks of worry were less subtle than her footsteps. She sighed and tried to relax, and, as they had little else to do while the boatman took them to the Doman Enclave, she attempted to make a bit of conversation.

“I thank the kami for keeping you safe and seeing you back to us,” she offered. “It has been what, near two months? All of your friends will be most relieved to see you alive and well.” A more genuine smile tugged at her lips. “We have our own share of stories, as well, many of them quite happy.”

In spite of knowing that she meant well, Riol felt ire rise in his chest, boiling up through the oppressive tiredness that dragged at his limbs. “The  _ kami _ ?” he muttered, unable to keep the look of disgust from his features. “I  _ fought  _ for my relative safety, and the only aid I had was more like sheer dumb luck and my own apparent inability to die.”

Yugiri stared back at him, open-mouthed and a bit hurt; Riol immediately regretted voicing those thoughts aloud, and turned away to look out across the water. Or as far as he could see across it in the fog. 

“You….” the Au Ra trailed off, then licked her lips carefully before trying again, “You’re tired. Surely you will feel more like yourself after a good night’s sleep….”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new hedgehog appears!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh sorry this took so long to update. New semester has been busy. I do wanna finish this (and the one with the HW boyfriends), just future updates might also take a while for the next few months. Thanks for reading and thanks for sticking with me~

“Full glad am I to see you alive and in one piece, my friend,” Hien told Riol, looking him over in amazement for perhaps the third or fourth time that morning. The pair of warriors sat across from each other in the dining room of the Kienkan, along with Alisaie and Alphinaud; the Leveilleur twins sat one on each side of the Duskwight, and both seemed to be trying to lean against him on purpose while trying to make it appear unintentional. Riol found he appreciated it, as their presence felt like a physical anchor to a world that otherwise felt far from real. The lightweight robes Hien had given him to wear already felt strangely loose and delicate after weeks of a stiff wool uniform.

The dragoon had finished his breakfast fairly quickly but was not certain he had been quite present enough to really taste any of it. Hien, by contrast, had spent much of the meal relaying the stories of what had occurred while Riol was in Garlemald, and so had made far less progress on his own portion.

“We had all thought you dead, or worse, since Ala Mhigo,” the Lord of Doma went on. “The Garlean diplomatic entourage was surprise enough, and then they brought you back to us with them….” His mouth hung open, pleasantly lost for words, as he gestured to the Elezen, in hopes of conveying his pleasant surprise and astounded relief.

Alphinaud and Alisaie had also been eager to add their own contributions to the stories, as well. It seemed Doma had gotten a fair bit of good news already in recent weeks, most notably that Gosetsu had reappeared alive, and apparently as well as could be expected, given his injuries and age. 

“We were somewhat reassured that no one could find your body at the palace,” Alisaie told him, lowering her bowl to her lap for a moment to look up at him. “Or, eh, that sounds morbid, but … I hope you know what I mean.”

“We thought it likely that Zenos managed to escape in the airship,” her brother chimed in. “Hence why we found no trace of him, but we could only hope that you had managed to find a way to pursue him.”

“Eorzea’s worst shinobi,” Hien said in with a half smile, glancing between the three Elezen with a quirked brow. “Clattering through the shadows in all your plate and chain.”

“Or speared to the outside of the airship, like you were fighting a dragon,” Alphinaud joked, and pantomimed the sort of downward thrust Riol or Estinien executed on landing a jump. His sister chuckled lightly, as well, then leaned further forward to try to catch a better look at Riol’s face.

The dragoon imagined whatever inside joke had been born of a need to make light of the situation, and he did find it a bit amusing, but could not quite muster the energy to laugh. “Something like that,” he replied, with a small smile in hopes of at least conveying that he was not offended.

“Is there aught else you require?” Hien then inquired, talking with his hands like he had to do  _ something _ with them. “The journey back was not too troubling?” Riol shook his head, and the Lord of Doma asked with a bit more care, “You were not… too terribly mistreated by the Empire?”

“No,” the dragoon replied, looking down to where his hands rested in his lap and his empty bowls sat on his small breakfast table. “I…” he stopped, wondering what to say, how much to say, so soon. Then he settled on, “I could use a few more days’ rest, but I don’t think a healer will be necessary. I’ve just had a trying last few days.” 

They finished the rest of breakfast in relative silence, during which time Riol only had to insist to the three others that he was fine once or twice more. Then Hien led them to the back yard of the Kienkan; the garden within the low walls had gone wild during the Garlean occupation and had not yet been tamed again, but it felt so distinctly  _ alive _ after all the time Riol had spent in metal rooms and hallways.

The dragoon carefully took a seat at the edge of the wooden veranda between the house and the gardens, before the twins again settled down to either side of him. Hien, meanwhile, sat on one of the garden’s large decorative stones close by, facing the other three. The rock was cracked in half and one side was growing patches of moss, but somehow the Lord’s presence still made the rough-cut stone seem an impromptu throne.

“What truly transpired, though? After you pursued Zenos out to the Menagerie?” Once they were settled, Hien waited no more than a few moments before his deep curiosity got the better of him and he continued to press Riol with questions. “I thought the Viceroy was far more intent on your death than your capture. Did you meet him alone there? Or did he have soldiers waiting?”

The Duskwight licked his lips, feeling one of the half-healed cuts there with the tip of his tongue. He was already determined to make no secret of what he had done - damned knight’s honor - but saying it aloud to his friends and allies was still a daunting prospect. All three of them peered at him expectantly, and finally Riol managed to speak:

“No, Zenos was alone. Well, save for Shinryuu in its prison. But the Crown Prince … offered a hand in friendship. To go back with him to Garlemald.” Alisaie started to open her mouth, but waited for him to finish. Riol closed his eyes and admitted, “And I accepted. Zenos departed Ala Mhigo after that, and I simply … went with him.”

“Friendship!? With Zenos?” Alisaie blurted incredulously. “Are you mad? Why didn’t you just kill him? What were you thinking?”

“What indeed?” Hien’s voice had gone cold; Riol expected to see frost on the plants when he opened his eyes again.

“Are you saying you chose to be a hostage?” Alphinaud shook his head in similar disbelief. “On the eve of the Alliance’s victory over the Empire?” Out of the corner of his eye, Riol saw him turn away slightly, a hand to his chin in thought.

Riol sighed, shaking his head. “I saw it as the quickest and surest way to remove Zenos from the battlefield. And to keep him from releasing Shinryuu on you all.” 

Alisaie scooted a small distance away from Riol, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she frowned, studying the dragoon. Her voice remained uncertain and decidedly upset. “He really got to you, didn’t he? Beating you twice, and then pursuing whatever obsession he had with you, Riol.” She took a deep breath and started to raise her voice as she continued, “Your real friends are here. We could have helped you bring Zenos down! But instead you left us all behind to take that-- that murderer’s hand? Did you ever think about us?”

“Of course I thought about you,” the dragoon replied bitterly. “I never stopped.” He was dressed in a light Doman robes that Hien had provided, but the airy, wide sleeves suddenly felt heavy around his wrists; he peered down at his hands where they rested in his lap. He did not expect Alisaie or her brother to understand. Hien, however….

The samurai rose smoothly to his feet and fixed Riol with a dark gaze, his sudden aura of authority halting any further questions from Alisaie. “Can I speak to you alone? Now?” It was a command, not a question.

Riol stood as well, looking Hien in the eye. “Of course,” he said again. For all that he knew he deserved his companions’ ire, he was still not ashamed of what he had done. He saw the muscles in the Hyur’s jaw working as he fought to keep his composure, and Hien stared at him a moment longer before turning to lead the way to his private chambers.

As soon as the screens had closed behind them both, Hien rounded on the erstwhile Warrior of Light to grasp him roughly by the collar. “After all of that, you dare to come back here alive? While Zenos yet breathes?” he snarled. “I expected better from  _ you _ , of all people.” The Doman warrior was surprisingly strong in spite of the fact that he was shorter than Riol, and he shook him once emphatically before shoving him away and turning his back. “To think I fought beside you, thinking you a man of principle.”

The Elezen staggered back a step but remained on his feet. “I would die before I could ever turn on Eorzea,” he replied. Fury, he had thought about it, but Riol never would have been able to live with himself had he followed through. “I never intended to serve Garlemald.”

“‘Imperial Eikon Slayer’? 'Tis true they granted you that title?” Hien snapped, not turning around.

“Zenos did--”

“And you accepted?”

“I had little choice.”

“You had  _ all _ the bloody choice.” Hien whirled around again, fists clenched and sincere intent to use them in his eyes.

“Eikons are a threat to all of us, and killing them is just what I do. You and the Alliance lead your armies. I’m merely a weapon.” Riol’s brow furrowed a bit as he held Hien’s gaze again. “Does it matter in the end in whose name I put them down?”

“I don’t know, Riol,  _ does it _ ?” the Hyur shot back, lip curling again in disgust.

Riol glanced away then. A moment later, Hien, deciding the Elezen had taken too long to provide a satisfactory response, stepped in and drove his fist solidly into his gut. The dragoon grunted as the blow knocked the wind out of him, and dropped to his knees on the woven mats that covered the floor. Hands pressed to his middle, he gasped awkwardly as he missed several breaths; Hien took full advantage of his inability to speak:

“Did you forget that Zenos killed my father?” Hien snarled, getting down on one knee and drawing his fist back for another strike. “He killed scores of my people, murdered them in cold blood!” Riol declined to defend himself from the second punch, and half-collapsed to the floor, nose bleeding. “Zenos raped my homeland, and sought to grind my countrymen’s spirits into the dust, and you took his hand in  _ friendship _ !?” 

Riol remained on the floor unmoving for another long moment, coughing once or twice before he pushed himself back to a sitting position. He wiped his nose carefully, making brief note of the streaks of red across the back of his hand - distantly, he registered that the dripping blood was soaking into the tatami flooring and likely ruining it. Then folded his arms carefully across his aching stomach.

“All of Zenos’ fury,” he began, tone low but steady. “All of his bloodlust, all of his need for violence….” The dragoon coughed again, then raised his head to look Hien in the eye. “If you could take all the horror he visited upon your nation and place it all solely on yourself instead,” Riol went on with gradually more strength to his voice. “If you had the chance to accept every blow, every broken bone, shed every drop of blood  _ yourself _ , to see the man sated without him ever laying a finger on your people….”

The Doman took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing his hands to relax as the fury melted away from his features, leaving only a troubled, almost haunted look behind.

“... I would have done it in an instant,” Hien murmured finally, letting his eyes slide closed.

“I could just take his hand, and go, lead him away from Ala Mhigo and Doma and everyone else.” Riol closed his eyes as well, letting his head tip forward and his shoulders slump.

Hien stood and turned away. “You’re a damned madman, you know that, right?” he said softly after a long moment, raising his hand to examine beginnings of bruises forming across his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also thxu to Ebonwing for letting me bother him for feedback =B


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All those marks that will never go away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm alive I promise. I've been working as a TA this semester for the school's hardcore undergrad weed-out class and working with ~60 students every week takes a lot out of an introvert like me =3=;

Alphinaud was gradually growing accustomed to the Doman preference for communal bathing, but he still often scheduled his trips to the large hot tub in Hien’s home at odd hours of the afternoon or night in order to avoid having to share it with the other men. Today, he opted for the mid afternoon, as soon as they had completed their negotiations with the Garlean delegation for the day. Something in the Garlean ambassador’s tone today had made Alphinaud feel like he needed a shower, besides.

Hair loose and damp around his shoulders after rinsing off, the young elezen crept into the steam-hazed bathroom. The room was quiet and he could see no one else here, and so Alphinaud set his towel aside and moved to the edge of the tub to sit down. 

Before he was settled on the smooth stones that made up the large bath, the Sharlayan noticed with a start that there  _ was _ , in fact, someone else already here; a second later Riol emerged from the water with a gasp, having apparently been under the surface where Alphinaud had not immediately seen him. The younger Elezen froze, startled, and felt his cheeks burning at having been caught both naked and unaware. The dragoon appeared just as surprised for a moment, too, until Alphinaud started to stammer an apology and Riol shook his head to stop him. 

“It’s, uh, fine, it’s not like I own the tub or anything,” he said, sweeping sodden strands of his hair away from where they had stuck to his face. His voice had a bit of gravel to it, as though he had not spoken to anyone else yet today, and he cleared his throat before adding, “I mean, it’s more than big enough for us both. I don’t mind if you join, I just didn’t think anyone else would be here this time of the afternoon.”

“O-of course,” Alphinaud replied, hesitating a moment before scurrying to submerge himself in the water. “I thought it would be empty here, too,” he added with a nervous laugh once he was about as hidden as he was going to get, seated in the steaming water. The two of them had bathed together (or at least nearby) before on several occasions, namely during their journey through the far wilds of Dravania, but being able to see his friend’s well-muscled body still never failed to make the Sharlayan scholar feel… well,  _ scrawny _ .

And so Riol’s disinclination to converse helped the younger Elezen feel a bit less awkward, at least at first. The dragoon simply sat, still and silent, staring off into space somewhere past the ceiling of the Kienkan’s bathroom. One of his eyes was still dark with a bruise, but even ignoring that, there was a weight to his features that made the Warrior of Light look tired.

Alphinaud leaned back against the stone side of the tub, pleased that he could feel the warmth seeping into muscles he had forgotten were tense. A memory of one of the baths in a clear river near Anyx Trine stood out in his mind: one where he had knelt shyly on the shore to try to wash his hair, while Estinien and Riol both had all but leapt from their clothing to jump into the cool water. The Duskwight had shared a story from his boyhood of when he had slipped away from tending karakul on a particularly hot day in order to go skinny-dipping - and one of the other shepherds had punished his truancy by stealing his clothes from the shore. He and Estinien both fondly recalled when the clime in Coerthas was still such that they could enjoy the occasional excursion to one of the rivers or lakes to swim.

… Riol’s smile, even when saddened by a home the Calamity had forever consigned to memory, was a far different look from the one he now wore. The arcanist’s urge to set everything aright on his own had been tempered by harsh reality in recent months, and so he was wisely reluctant to pressure his friend to discuss what troubled him. Nonetheless, what Alphinaud would have given to know Riol’s thoughts now.

Alphinaud stole another glance towards him with a touch of worry; he could see that the bruises he had noted on Riol’s neck earlier, where they had showed at the collar of his borrowed Doman robe, did indeed continue to his shoulders and collarbone. And more of the dark marks seemed to extend further down his chest, as well, along with pale lines of half-faded scars. Some of them were quite large. 

Had Zenos done  _ all of that _ to him, Alphinaud wondered. The arcanist’s mind did as it was inclined to, calculating and speculating, fueled by his worry: how much force, how much strength would it have taken to pierce the dragoon’s armor there at the shoulder? What balance of magical and natural healing would have closed deep cuts yet still left marks of stitches behind?

At last, Riol stirred, tearing his gaze from nothing in particular; Alphinaud quickly looked away, suddenly self-conscious of his staring. He had seen the dragoon bare-chested enough times in the past (typically while someone was mending Riol’s latest crop of injuries), but somehow, not knowing exactly how he had come to possess the current array of wounds made the younger Elezen feel a bit guilty for gaping at him. 

“Oh, do you mind if I talk business a bit?” Riol asked him, breaking the silence. “Scion business?”

“Ah, I suppose?” The Sharlayan recalled that he also had things he wanted to discuss with the Warrior of Light, but then a thought struck him, and Alphinaud hastily amended, “Actually no, wait till after our warm soak, so long as it is not too immediately dire?” He offered his friend a small smile, hoping to see Riol’s mind at a bit more ease even if it meant putting his own gnawing curiosity on hold a little longer. Perhaps an exercise in relaxation for both of them.

The Warrior of Light’s brows knit, and he hesitated, lips parted, before leaning back to rest his elbows on the edge of the tub. “It is, but I suppose waiting another several minutes makes little difference ultimately.” He gave the slightest of laughs, and held up one hand for Alphinaud to see the pads of his fingers, wrinkled from time spent in the water. “I’ve already been here a while, though. Once I get out, can we chat? Or do I have to wait till you’ve turned pruny, too?”

“Wait for me,” Alphinaud replied, pleased to see at least a bit of his friend’s humour peeking through. “I doubt I’ll be here too long--”

He stopped as he heard the sound of one of the wooden doors nearby sliding open, bringing with it the sound of conversation. Hien’s voice was not difficult to recognize, and Gosetsu’s was nigh unmistakable; they stopped in the adjacent changing room. They both sounded in good spirits, at least.

“Seems like we all had the same idea,” Riol remarked. The arcanist nodded, then self-consciously slouched in the water till it came to his chin. Sure enough, several minutes later, the two Domans emerged into the bathroom wearing nothing but their towels around their waists. 

“Oh, a veritable gathering of heroes,” Gosetsu exclaimed upon seeing the two Elezen already in the bath. His gait was slow and stiff as he made his way to the edge of the tub, but he seemed to radiate a bit more of the energy and good cheer that had waned overall since his brush with death.

Hien was close at his old friend’s side, and tried once to take his elbow to help steady him; Gosetsu discreetly swatted his hand away. “It has been a tense several days, I think, treating with Garleans.” Alphinaud noted the Lord of Doma’s uncertain glance at Riol who sat up a bit straighter in the water. “Just as well that we all take time to relax, lest we fall ill.” 

With a slight laugh, the Warrior of Light quipped, “Unless we want to send the Ambassador home with our sicknesses.” 

“Fair,” Hien replied with a half-smile and an arched brow. They came to the edge of the tub and stopped. This time, the younger samurai more insistently took his friend’s arm, then stepped in closer to help support him.

“You need not, my lord!” Gosetsu protested, but ultimately allowed it, shoulders sagging slightly as Hien wrapped his other arm around the Roegadyn’s waist. 

“There are plenty of us here for you to lean on,” he replied fondly. “If you do not accept my help, then I will simply conscript one of our Eorzean guests to assist instead.” Hien frowned with effort to support the elder man as Gosetsu shifted his weight to start to climb carefully down into the hot tub.

“I’ll not have you trouble our guests,” Gosetsu grumbled, and grunted with effort, as though his body would not move quite how he wished. “Not on my account. I would not want to break young master Alphinaud, besides.”

“And I would hate to let you fall,” Alphinaud agreed with a sheepish laugh. Now surrounded by three warriors, he felt even smaller. Gosetsu then settled down into the bath with a sigh, sending a small wave of water up to and past Alphinaud’s chin before sloshing over the edge of the tub, and the arcanist sputtered briefly.

Once Hien was seated as well, he and Riol seemed to stare at each other across the tub. Or perhaps Riol was staring through him, into space again. While the elder samurai closed his eyes and leaned back to relax, the Lord of Doma’s brows knit into a slight troubled frown. Alphinaud knew something had transpired between them, but neither man had disclosed what, save that the dragoon had emerged from the private conversation with a black eye that he had not brought with him from Garlemald.

“Riol, have you time to speak later?” Hien asked after a few minutes. He raised his hands from the water to reach back and untie his hair, tossing his head to help the strands fall loose around his shoulders. “We met with the Garlean delegation again this morning, and I would like to know your thoughts.”

Alphinaud glanced to Riol, and, when he did not immediately respond, the Sharlayan asked, “May I join, as well? If our friend is feeling up to it, mayhap it would be easiest for us all to exchange information together.”

The Duskwight again seemed briefly lost in thought, but nodded after a moment, eyes focusing again as he looked first to Hien, then to his fellow Scion. “Fine by me. I need to talk to Alphinaud anyway, about something Doma needs to know, as well.”

“Why are you talking about work in the bath?” Gosetsu grumbled to the three of them, making no effort to sit up from his contented slouch in the warm water. “I thought we all came here to relax.” He opened one eye and looked to Hien, arching a bushy brow. “You were the one who said so first.”

“Alright, alright,” Hien sighed, then ducked his head under the water to wet his hair. “Mandatory relaxation time for all, starting now,” he then declared once he surfaced again.

Then Riol pushed himself up out of the water to sit on the stone edge of the tub. “Sounds good. Enjoy yourselves,” the Warrior of Light replied a bit too cheerfully.

There was a scar across Riol’s ribs on his right side from one of the primal Ravana’s blades; the Sharlayan scholar had long felt responsible for that one. Yet it was now nearly hidden beneath fresher cuts and, seeing the full extent of the new marks on the Warrior of Light’s bare body…. Alphinaud had originally opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat, and he instead let out a wavering sigh, unsure of what to say. Perhaps in this case, saying nothing was best--

“Good  _ heavens _ , boy!” Gosetsu exclaimed. (Alphinaud jumped, blushing to the tips of his ears as he turned around to look at him before he recalled that all three of them in the tub were “boy” to the old man). “You look as though three castles have fallen on you!” He pushed himself to a more upright sitting position and carefully raised an arm from the water to point at the Duskwight. “You’re going to bed straightaway, I hope?”

After fetching his towel and wiping off his face, Riol glanced back over his shoulder, with another forced smile on his lips. “No castles, only the palace in Garlemald. And I’m fine, really.” He paused as he wrapped the towel around his waist, then gathered his hair over his shoulder. “The warm bath helped, and the Imperial chirurgeons told me to try to keep moving as much as I could, to help the muscles heal or something like that.”

Naturally, Gosetsu started to disagree, as though he had not been the one minutes before trying to turn away Hien’s concerned assistance; the Lord of Doma placed a hand on his forearm to stop him before he could speak.

“Of course,” Hien told the Warrior of Light. “We shall see you later, then.”

Riol nodded and turned to go, and Alphinaud chimed in with, “It was nice to see you again.”

… Shite, he had already embarrassed himself staring at his friend naked for half a bell, and now  _ that _ was the best he could come up with? Alphinaud sank down in the water again and put his head under, hoping Riol would be gone from the bathroom by the time he ran out of air. And that Hien and Gosetsu both had short memories.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Shoutout to my beta readers friend Dash and Ithums~


End file.
